Just this morning, I was admiring my blog-shot because Mom had mentioned that it looked like a school photo. "What grade?" I wondered ... Mom thinks that it looks kinda like the first or second grade because I still have all of my teeth, but I digress ...
Anyway, I was noticing that my "mandibles of doom" look pretty sexy against my sleek black fur and I was feeling pretty good about myself until Mom mentioned that I better not try to fit into any small places because my whiskers are looking slightly narrower than my butt. What a thing to say!!! After I finished being mortified, I tried to think of a zingy retort about Mom needing a "wide load" sign for her own buns of cinnamon. I carefully backed the bus up (beep, beep, beep) and examined the junk that comprises my trunk. Whoa. THAT'S wear all of the snacks are relocating. I'm looking a little "J. Lo" and black fur isn't as slimming as the fashonistas claim. Why couldn't the excess "me" be shuttled to my hoots? Afterall, what kind of damage would that do to my figure since I've got eight of the darn things and they haven't been all that multi-functional of late?
So, I got to thinking and the thinking led to an examination and comparision between the Feline Americans. Who has the longest whiskers? Well, Sparky Fuzzypants has got some W-I-D-E whiskers. I thought at first that his narrow muzzle just gave the illusion of long whiskers, but on closer inspection, I had to say: "DAMN! Those are some enviable whiskers!" I got a little worried because I had read about the number of whiskers being a good indicator of feline intellect (and you know as well as I do that Sparky isn't a member of the brain trust ... unlike yours truly).
Pumpkin is a really muscular guy with narrow hips ... His whiskers seem size appropriate and I don't think that I'd worry much if he tried to stuff himself somewhere small and confining, because he'd assuredly have enough room if he used the width of his whiskers as a guideline. Pumpkin prefers under the bed anyway and since it's king-size, he's got a lot of wiggle room.
Fudge Ripple and Lucky Charmz have smaller whisker widths ... I'm not worrying about Fudgie getting stuck because the boy is geriatrically slim and too darn smart to put himself somewhere he can't get out. Lucky Charmz, however, is another story. He keeps breaking his whiskers off. Pretty soon the boy is going to be facially bald. Hopefully they'll grow back thick and lustrous ... Or he is gonna try to fit somewhere and won't have any size indicators for easy reference. I'll try to tempt him behind the sofa or somewhere tight ... Bwahh, hahhh, hahhh ...
My big worry is that Cocoa Puff (aka Puffy Stuff) will get his wide self stuck when Mom's not around to rescue him. Puffy's butt kept growing and growing, but obviously wasn't on speaking terms with his whiskers. Puffy's "mandibles of doom" stopped growing when he still weighed twelve pounds ... That was about eighteen pounds ago. Puffy has gotten stuck behind the sofa and in the closet (don't get me started here), but the funniest place was in the bedroom door's catdoor. He was half in the bedroom and half in the hallway. Sad, sad, sad ... I wanted to help him, but I was laughing so hard that it felt like I was hyperventilating. Puffy still hasn't really forgiven me for teasing him about the "catdoor with the Cocoa Puff center". I can run, but I can't hide, right? At least I can climb, Puffy! Eat your heart out!
All of this blogging is making me sleepy ... Until later. This has been DaisyMae Maus pondering one of feline life's great mysteries.