Thursday, August 21, 2008

The Evolution of Super Cat

 
It's a large furry bird! It's a small furry plane!
 
NO! It's Super Cat!
 
Late one night, while prowling the neighborhood for tasty morsels of small rodents, and/or tasty morsels of kitty cats of the feminine persuasion, young Philo the Feline stumbled across a garbage can full of interesting odors. While Philo had no knowledge of chemicals, a strange combination of turpentine, Elmer's glue, coffee grounds, and cantaloupe rinds drew him like a tasty moth morsel to a flame, and he quickly knocked over the garbage can and wallowed in the enticing aroma and almost palpable fumes.
 
Philo woke up the following morning under a shrub at the home of the people who he kept as pets, his face half-buried in mulch. While he found the humans' antics only slightly amusing and extremely insulting, they worshipped him and gave him food. The nasty dry crap was irritating, but they occasionally fed him tasty meat morsels from their own plates...so he kept them around.
 
As Philo went about his kitty business of the day (he had made a list the night before, but had misplaced it while canvassing the neighborhood), he felt a surprising energy that he had not previously felt in his young kitty life. As he leaped along the sidewalk, his "air-time" seemed longer; as he chewed the shoestrings on the male human's boots, his teeth seemed stronger; and as he leaped onto the kitchen counter, he realized that he was airborne...and he wasn't coming down! Philo thought, "Holy crap! I can FLY!"
 
As the days passed, Philo explored his new-found powers. Not only could he fly, he realized that his eyes glowed with laser-like intensity. His constant purring lulled his humans--and their enemies--to sleep, allowing him to move about at will. When Philo visited "the facilities," he was able to induce screams of horror in his humans as they ran out of the room because of the enhanced odor.
 
However, Philo quickly realized that he must use his powers for Good, not Evil. He felt pity for his human pets, for they seemed weak, and were obviously unable to hunt for their own tasty morsels. Instead, they had to purchase such morsels at a place where the prices were outrageous and the quality marginal. Philo resolved to protect his puling humans, for they were too unintelligent to realize just how lame and vulnerable they were.
 
While his humans entertained guests, Philo patrolled the area. When they weren't looking, he would sail past the window, his laser-eyes peeled for all threats, including weapons of mass destruction that the visitors might be concealing. Philo's efforts and vigilance allowed the humans to enjoy themselves in their insular little world, never knowing that they were in incredible danger.
 
Philo's nine lives were extended unto infinity, and he remains ever-vigilant, ever-faithful, but as susceptible as always to a good belly rub.
 
 

9 comments:

buckoclown said...

If Philo is anything like Sheeba, his Kryptonite may just be the nightly belly rub, as Super Kitty melts into a purring mess of kittyness :o)  Love the entry.  

mereel2005 said...

I'll leave a saucer of milk for Philo just in case he plans to stop by.
Laini

ziggy2315 said...

My goodness where did this come from? Did you make it up? Nice story either way. I do love cats so any kitty story is delightful to me.

solace223 said...

Sorry to your husband, but I think Philo should run for president.  ;)~  He has to be better than the current one.  At the very least, more intelligent.
Jamie

preciousone25 said...

This is SO cute.... what an imagination... LOL!!!  Your entries are never boring!!! LOL!!

Joann

queeniemart said...

You have such a way with words...you should write a book about Philo!
XO

frankandmary said...

After this(which was fantastic) I know Philo books for $24.95 are bound to show up on your sidebar. ~Mary

chat2missie said...

I see a movie in Philo's future!
Missie

carouselqueen70 said...

that was very cute.I think my cat is a super villian because he brings in mice from outside everyday. lol.hugs, Christine