How To Buy & Sell Every-thing

There must be a way to get rid of this New Small Human Child. But how?

How?

O the hideous cries!

It pains me to say that the threat to our mission is more grave than even Vladia or Sri Lanka could imagine.

Now I of course had seen the unwholesome burgeoning of belly in the longer-haired human and postulated either a large internal TICK or some sort of sudden bulbous obesity like that of well, Sri Lanka.

The long-haired human said things to me like -- Say hi to the new kitty, Cheop. And she read that book aloud-- Miffy and the New Baby

But I was immune to such powerful and subtle propaganda! I may have put my paws on the belly once or twice, but it was just to investigate. And for a time, all seemed well. By well I mean like by any other time when one is at battle and hearts and minds are at stake.

Then, the human who ran the camp in Silverlake came to visit, she who calls me "The Cat" with the emphasis on "The." At first I would not consort with her. I recalled who latched us into our hellish cages and launched us into the groaning air machines where we huddled for many hours, not knowing our fate! But after punishing her for a minute with my cold airs, I investigated her lap, which was not obstructed by a growing annoying roundness. She poured favor on me. And I pretended to enjoy it. The things we do for the cause! It was terrible, really. All that petting. And attention. And the scratching.

But then the day came when all the humans left! My god, I thought we'd won. Except they forgot to leave the window or door open, but no matter, I could have sent Sri Lanka through the window. Imagine my horror when they returned, with THE TICK in a cat-sized carrier. With cushions! Did our cages have cushions? Or little blankies? I think not. Anyway, I digress. They returned with THE TICK.

And the wailing began.
For THE TICK issues forth demented cries, piteous, heartrending, terrible screams.

Day and night.

Oh, I fear for this mission. My reconnaissance dream missions (aka "catnaps" in the insulting human-speak) are constantly interrupted at crucial junctures by this infernal addition to this household.

And the humans are USELESS. They cannot stop the crying. It would be amusing to watch their futile efforts-- the singing off-key, the pacing the floors, the rocking, the pathetic attempts to reason with THE TICK, were I not so blasted tired from the racket.

We're currently deployed in a defensive triangulated pattern: Sri Lanka is at her post in the new wheeled contraption, Vladia has set up in the slatted wood thingy with blankets in it, while I'm on the mat. That's right, THE cat is on the mat. It's really the most dangerous location when you think about it, the mat is on the floor and does not involve climbing or maneuvering, I mean, it is completely in the open.

Sri Lanka has been doing some photo surveillance and will be posting her findings soon. Meanwhile, I remain:

your ever-dedicated
furry fearless feline force
strong and loyal
and handsome
and fearless
and commanding
and powerful

Commander Cheop

The Fantum Menuss

To: KittyNet High Command
From: Cheop The Cat: The Magnificent, The Blessed, The Strong, The Merciful, The Very Courageous, The Very Very Smart, Certainly The Handsome, etc.

Dear Sirs,

It has become clear now to us at the V3 London Outpost, that we are being threatened by a new enemy. A new enemy lies on the horizon. Or perhaps just below the horizon. Yes, actually probably just below the horizon, because we can't actually see it yet. And you know my vision is really quite excellent and if this enemy were above the horizon it's a near certain I would have spotted it by now. But no, no, this enemy - this "Fantum Menuss" (TM) - stays cunningly hidden, cunningly hidden by the HUMANS.

Things are afoot, I tell you. Afoot! Something dreadful is coming!

And we have evidence. Yes, evidence! Photograhical evidence that something is on the horizon (or perhaps just below it, as previously delineated).

Behold! ...




What this sinister, cage-like contraption could be, I know not. But I do know one thing...

We must strike! Strike now!

Yours, etc.

Cheop The Cat, Commander The V3, London

Duck & Cover

What with all the saber-rattling the HUMANS have been doing lately, flouting long-held nuclear arms treaties and developing all kinds of new weapons systems - they call it "defense", but we at the V3IL (V3 In London) know better - we have renewed our Duck & Cover drills.

Remember, when you see that FLASH ...



... DUCK and COVER!!

Relaxing Between Missions

Our situation here in London is even more graver than that situations which we did experience in Los Angeles. We have uncovered a dark and sinister plot that the HUMANS are silently incubating ... and I ... well ... I just don't know.

But more on that later.

After a long hard day of Resisting the HUMAN MENACE, I like to unwind with a little Sudoku ...

Surviving In A Cold Cruel World

In these harsh British conditions - with temperatures well, well, well below 72 degrees Fahrenheit - and rain falling from the sky in great big sheets of rain, we V3 cats must sometimes cling ...

... yes, cling ...

... cling ...

... cling for our lives.

I Am A Romantic Cat

One of the things people may not realize about me is...

...I am a romantic cat.

I may seem harsh and cruel, may be thought of as a disciplinarian in my dealings with my inferiors. You can't afford to appear soft when the weight of the catworld swings in the balance on your shoulders.

Still, I am a romantic cat. And there are many things I find beautifu' and mysterious about the world. I'm no Shelly, I'm no Byron, it's true. But I do wonder: "Where does the wind blow from? And where does it blow from to?" I wonder: "Is cat made in the image of God? Or is it God who is made actually in the image of cat? You know, like God would be cat-shaped or something." I wonder: "Why am I so damn sexy? Is it my breath? My charming crooked smile? My spartan, austere, sturdy and masculine tail-stump? Is it my suavely tuxedoed pelt? Is it a combination of these things all? Or is it an ineffable something-else. An Idontknowwhat? Or as the cats of Paris say: "a meeyyyeerrrrraarrrh".

I am a romantic cat.

My job requires ruthlessness, cunningness, and razor instinctualness. But remember though, as I crush my enemies beneath my mighty bulk, that in the heart of this vicious, indomitable, terrifying killing machine...lies a romantic cat.

LONDON!

KittyNet High Command...

Dearest, KittyNet High Command...

Dear Sirs...

My Dear Sirs...

Dear...hello?...hello? Is this thing on?...

Dear Sirs At KittyNet High Command:

That's pretty good, right? Does that sound good? Vladia, does that sound good?

(muffled response)

Of course it does.

Confirm we have arrived safely at our new UK destination.

The trip was harrowing - 15 hours in cargo carriers. But we are strong cats. Strong, strong cats. Especially me. I am the strongest. As you know. We all know that I am the strongest. Right, Vladia? I'm the strongest? ...

(muffled response)

Right.

On Wednesday, November 22, 2006 A.D., we were sent off by the humans of the Silverlake Outpost, the three of us cleverly disguised as cats being shipped in cargo. Agent Gertie gave wise counsel, which we took to heart. She said: "Remember, they will be expecting cats being shipped as cargo, not cats disguised as cats being shipped in cargo." As the grim hours rolled by, the three of us caged deep in the belly of a human steel-bird-flying-boom-boom-birdie-machine-bird with wings, this advise sustained us and gave us courage.

We were detained by uniformed humans with peculiar accents upon arrival. They sought to make us comfortable, gave us food, moistened our brows - and then they STUCK THE KNIFE IN! Or I'm sure they would have. I know that's what they were planning. Trying to get us to lower our guards. But our guards would not be lowered. I'm not lowering my guard for not stinking human. No way. Even if they give me a whole lot of tuna-fish. Well, it might depend on how much tuna-fish they gave me. But it would really have to be a whole lot of tuna-fish. Maybe six or seven cans. Then I might think about maybe lowering my guard. Or four cans. Four cans might get me to lower my guard. Maybe.

Sri Lanka and my fine self survived the trip relatively unruffled, but Vladia Velocicat...the pressures of the mission - the most dangerous so far in the V3 saga - took their toll. She was...

What?

(muffled plaintive meowing)

Yes, they did, Vladia.

(muffled response)

Yes. they did. They took their toll.

(muffled response)

Dude, you looked like you were at death's door. Trust me, they took their toll.

(muffled response)

I'm in the middle of an important KittyNet transmission here. On the record, they took their toll. You may file a formal complaint, if you like. But I'm telling KittyNet Command that they took their toll.

Yes. So...yes. Vladia's nose was bloody-raw from attempts to escape her cage. Her fur was ruffled and unkempt. Her eyes, glazed. Her tail, dragging behind her like a piece of wet rope. It was pitiful to behold. It almost made me want to stop thinking about myself for a moment. I think that gives you an idea of the gravity of her situation.

The male human - the one tagged NR729 - came to get us. I pretended to recognize him. Even though I did actually recognize him. But still I pretended. Oh, I'm wily. Oh, so wily.

(muffled grumblig)

Yes, I am Vladia. I'm wily.

We were taken to the new facility, which seems adequate. I did a full inspection immediately, investigating all rooms, checking all possible ingresses and egresses and congresses and extragresses and other kinds of gresses. We slept, greeted the female human (tagged JW821) when she arrived, with feigned affection.

There is only one waste-voiding area, which is going to change, I can tell you. The food is inadequate. But that is par for the course.

Vladia is on the rebound. Her tail attitude is most of the time near 45 degrees, which is remarkable improvement after only two days of recovery. Her nose is an unattractive blotch of scab, but that means it's healing. I...

...What?...

(muffled myerking)

...Sri Lanka has told me to relay a message to you...I...

She says...She wants to deliver the message herself. I...well, I never...

(rustling, static, squeal of feedback)

...myerk...myar...

...myap...myerk...mep...

...myawp...myap...

(rustling)

Please do forgive that. Sometimes she just...I just don't know. She's an inscrutable kitty, that Sri Lanka. Who knows how her mind works.

And so, in conclusion, we can clearly see that The V3 are an asset to KittyNet and that much of their success is due to the skill of their leader, me. Thanks you.

Signing off, this is Cheop The Cat. In London.

End transmission.