Iggy and the Bag.

So there was this one thing I wanted to tell you about my new-ish cat, Iggy. We got Iggy as a rescue cat from a local shelter a few months ago. His name was Lewie, but we decided that name was not very exciting and changed it to Iggy after a funny story I heard about a comedian and his misadventures with a bunch of Russian mobsters. One mobster was named Igor.

I found out very quickly that Iggy is an astonishingly stupid cat.  Not the kind of, “oh, that animal isn’t smart” variety of stupid.  This was a level of stupidity that I had not seen in an animal before.

For example, let’s take the simple act of training the cat to stay off the sofa…

Iggy on the Couch

Iggy, get off the couch


Iggy, get off the couch


Get of the GD Couch


Spray Bottle

Wet Iggy Staring

Wet Iggy Blink

Why are you so stupid

Wet Iggy Frrrrp.

And so on it went. Iggy kept finding new ways to impress me with his stupidity.

Iggy + Bowl

Iggy Kills Water

Why no more waters

or, one of my personal favorites…

Runs into wall

One day, I came home with some groceries. I set the bags on the floor and I started putting the cold items in the fridge. Iggy was fascinated by this development and started hovering near me.

I finished putting the milk in the fridge and I turned around to see this staring up at me from the floor.

Iggy in the bag

I thought it was really cute that Iggy had nestled himself into the bag. I picked up the cat-bag combo to show Wife, who was seated on the couch.

Cat+Bag Combo


Picking Iggy up while in the bag did several things simultaneously.

  1. It proved to Iggy that the bag possessed the magical power of levitation.
  2. It showed Iggy that the bag was a force of unseen power and was probably linked to many unsolved mysteries of the universe.
  3. Since he couldn’t move easily while being lifted in the bag, there was also a good chance that the bag was immobilizing him as a precursory part of its feeding process.

All of these things made Iggy very unhappy, very quickly. It became clear that to me that Iggy did not want to be in the bag so I gently placed him on the ground. Iggy immediately sprinted away from the bag. There was one small catch though; one of the bag loops became wrapped around his little kitty waist. No matter how fast Iggy ran, the bag pursued him just as hard. As you can imagine, this produced one single emotional reaction in Iggy: sheer, undiluted terror.

The bag pursues

Iggy was running so fast throughout the house that I had no hope of catching him. All I could do was watch in horror as my cat sprinted through the house at a speed only pure adrenaline could provide.

This went on for a solid minute or two until Iggy decided that fleeing wasn’t working so he tried to hide. Iggy threw himself under the couch in a last ditch effort to escape.

I eventually had to move the couch and unhook the bag from my poor, tired and scared-to-death little cat. Iggy then ran off to hide and recover from his ordeal. I went back to unloading the remainder of the groceries.

I put the eggs in the fridge and reached down to put away the carrots when my hand touched something warm and furry in the bag.

I no Learn Good

Stupid cat.


P.S. Iggy was completely unharmed in this incident so don’t call PETA you wackos.

P.P.S. Iggy has since ruined my carpet, destroyed my TV and nearly killed himself trying to remove his collar. What this cat lacks in intelligence, he makes up for in sheer resilience & luck; I have to give him that.

The Great Migration Part IV: The Finale

With all of the medical poking and prodding done, the hop across the pond behind me, and with a job picked out, it was now time to move across the country and start my new career.

I had landed a job in New Jersey and it was now time to pack up and move from my base of operations in Florida.

Wife and I were apprehensive at first. I had spent the majority of my life in the Southeastern United States. In fact, I had never been farther north than Tennessee. As a kid, I was always told that people from the Northeast were rude, spoke too fast and should be feared because they were smarter than us.

I fully expected to arrive in New Jersey and be intimidated by their hyper-advanced culture.

I didn’t have time to worry about this though because Wife and I were busy preparing for the nineteen hour drive ahead of us.

We had packed the car with enough provisions to feed a caravan full of 18th century pioneers. The car looked ridiculous, but we really wanted to avoid a situation like this…

Thank you Oregon Trail for teaching me the values of preparation, packing and giving me a healthy fear of amoebic dysentery.

The trip to New Jersey went well for the most part. Wife and I, being control freaks and planning gurus, left very little to chance. What we didn’t count on though, was Other Cat. Other Cat had not been taking the whole, “let’s move to another continent and start a new life” thing very well.

Being a six pound creature, Other Cat is ultimately driven by the singular desire to hide and not be eaten. So Other Cat lives in a constant state of idling fear and paranoia that is accented with occasional spikes of abject terror.

Wife and I had spent the past several years reassuring Other Cat that we are loving and caring human overlords. We had actually gotten to the point where we could pet Other Cat without her trying to run away in terror.

All of this was shattered when the movers came and systematically removed all of the furniture. Without any hiding spots, Other Cat began to head toward psychological meltdown.

Every time we moved to a new location, Other Cat would slip into psychosis and meow all day and night.

I awoke several times in a crappy motel room with Other Cat meowing at full volume inches from my face, imploring that I use my magical human/god powers to fix the situation.

The only good thing through all of this was that Other Cat found each move so traumatic that she forgot the previous move.

So on and on the cycle went, from one motel room to another as we made our way to New Jersey. Other Cat’s mental collapse had come to a crescendo when we finally moved into our apartment.

Unlike all the motel rooms, this apartment was completely unfurnished. Our furniture was still being shipped across the country. Other Cat’s hiding places had been reduced to a card table and an inflatable mattress.

Her sleepless meowing session lasted for four days.

Other Cat eventually relented before I had to revoke my PETA membership. I think she eventually passed out from exhaustion and slept for a few days straight. By then, the furniture had arrived and she had plenty of places to hide and feel safe.

Once I was a fully rested and functioning member of society again, I began to explore my environs. New Jersey was certainly not the land of the future I had thought it to be, but the people are surprisingly nice and friendly.

All of my preconceived notions were dispelled, until I got on the highway. The personality transformation in the other motorists was instant. The moment they got behind the wheel, these New Jersey drivers turned into these awful creatures of hatred and insanity.



People drove like they were trolling internet forums; mean, petty and obnoxious. The average spacing between cars was roughly 7 feet, the speed limit was just a suggestion and the merge lane became another opportunity to pass.

It felt like everybody in New Jersey was racing on the road to some finish line and winner’s circle that I was somehow unaware of.

At first I was taken aback, but I thought of my years driving on the autobahn. I asked myself, “what would a German driver do in this situation?” The answer; turn up the techno, stomp on the gas and show everyone how well an Audi can handle at 240kph. I reached down deep and harnessed my inner German and began practicing precision aggressive driving; I haven’t looked back since. I have, however, factored in speeding tickets into my monthly budget. Hurray for multiculturalism.

I guess since I’ve been such a world traveler over the years that my move to Jersey has not required much adjusting. I’m still trying to figure out what a turnpike is… I’m pretty sure it’s when you take a normal road, put it in New Jersey and then make it all retarded. Wife and I are doing well. I like my new job and now I’m finally starting to get the time I need to devote to the blog.


P.S. Have a Happy Mother’s Day!

P.P.S. Stay tuned for more amazing brain funnies from the underwhelmer.

The Other Cat

I have another cat, but I don’t see her much because she is constantly hiding.  I call her Other Cat.

I understand that most cats have a nervous nature, but Other Cat behaves as if she were the sole survivor of some artillery-pocked WWI battlefield.

Any slight deviation from the norm will send Other Cat running for cover.

Minor rustling sound in the background = Kitty freak-out.

Anything that moves too fast = Kitty freak-out.

Slight change in barometric pressure = Kitty freak-out.

You get the idea.

Wife is the only thing that doesn’t seem to put Other Cat into a state of abject terror. Through means that I don’t fully understand, Wife equals happiness and safety for Other Cat. I, on the other hand, am treated like a kitty serial-killer. When Wife and I come home, we walk into the house and Other Cat is waiting. Wife usually enters first and Other Cat is happy.

Other Cat is content and safe. This is what I imagine Other Cat sees…

I walk in two seconds later and Other Cat is horrified. I have no idea what she sees, but it must be something close to this…

Other Cat’s world comes crashing down around her as I, The Dark One, enter the room. Other Cat flees and stays hidden for hours. This makes me feel terrible because I love animals. Until recently, I didn’t know why this happened.

I’ve thought about this pretty hard and I’ve come to the conclusion that Other Cat thinks I’m the Devil. This isn’t in a metaphorical or cheeky, fun type of way. Other Cat thinks I’m Satan. The reason for this is that Other Cat is an indoor cat. Her entire world is condensed to our house.

The population of the universe is Other Cat, Wife, me, and of course, Skittles. Skittles is a fat and terribly behaved cat, but she’s still a cat. Other Cat equates Skittles to the rest of the world’s kitty population; flawed, but mortal and redeemable. Now, Wife, being mostly nice to Other Cat, is seen as a Virgin Mary-type, saviour figure. This doesn’t leave me a lot of room on the theological scale. I, of course, fulfill the role of Lucifer to Other Cat.

Using the template of modern Christianity, the image of Wife and I entering the front door together becomes highly disturbing to Other Cat.  I assume she also finds our level of cooperation extremely distressing.

This is traumatic enough for Other Cat that her little kitty mind blocks out the experience shortly after it happens. This explains why she eagerly waits by the door the following day, completely oblivious to what’s about to happen. She’s doomed to relive the trauma five days a week or until she has a little kitty psychological meltdown.


Back in college, I lived with a bunch of roommates. One girl was a Hooters (TM) waitress, the other was between jobs and the last guy was in a band.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back now, I was definitely a slum lord.

More on this in a later post. Anyway, the aspiring rock-star roommate decided to get a cat. I guess he was nodding to history or something when named the cat Winston (yes, after the little fat man from England). Wife (then girlfriend) and I began taking care of the cat because aspiring rock-star roommate was about as nurturing as a desert.

We showered Winston with love and attention and it pretty soon decided that we were its new masters and the best thing since catnip.

One morning I got up and made my way to the bathroom to take care of business. I thought I had shut the door, but I had not.  I look down and see this.

I revert to reflex and orient on the movement below me. It was Winston. He thought my golden stream was a string to play with and was trying to “get it”. I could only imagine what was going through his head.

This was all pieced together in my head in roughly two seconds, but I was still urinating while facing Winston…

I peed all over Winston’s face; right in his big, blue, trusting eyes. Winston ran terrified out of the bathroom and straight to the only person who could save him from such an atrocity. Girlfriend was sleeping peacefully when she was awoken by a soggy kitten. It went something like this.

ME: Oh God…

GIRLFRIEND: Mmmm… Hey Winston. What’s the matter?



ME: I pissed on him, but I didn’t-


ME: I… I… I have no words…

It took several hours of reassuring to convince my girlfriend that I had not developed a very weird and specific form of sexual deviancy.

We scrubbed and washed Winston thoroughly, after we had burned the bed sheets.

That cat almost cost me my future wife.