Lumberjack

Fellin' dead trees like a lightnin' storm
Climbin' under covers 'cause your feet are warm
Leavin' your new curtains all ripped and torn
Lumberjack's been trouble since she was born

Princess Prissy Pants

Princess Kitten, asked for a fish
Threw a tiny tantrum when she didn't get her wish
I said I'd catch one, the next day
But she stuck out her butt and walked the other way

Greenthumb

Myth: Humans are the only species to ever domesticate crops.

Fact: Though often attributed to gardeners and horticulturists, most of the world's flowers are planted and tended-to by kitties while you're asleep.

Fact: Kitties make excellent gardeners because they are low to the ground, they have daily experience digging and burying, they can aerate soil with their claws, and they know, from their many attempts at eating your bouquets, what flowers should smell and taste like.

Fact: There has never been a successful florist who didn't get advice from kitties. Most florists keep a kitten in the chest pocket of their overalls.

Choo & Choo

Salt Lake City is not the sort of place you expect to find reclusive eccentrics. Everyone here seems to aspire to be average. With 200,000 middle class white Christians educated by the worst-funded public educational system in America, Salt Lake City is a place awash with conformity and mediocrity.

As luck would have it, I live next to the one weirdo in the whole town. Nestled in a small grotto of trees, next to a large old house, is a set of miniature train tracks which we often pass on our Kittyfinders recon missions.

If it weren't for the enormous exterminator tent we saw one day, the house would seem completely abandoned. The lights are never on, there are no cars in the driveway, and, as a drunken homeless gentleman informed me, "I've never seen the trains run. Fifteen years and I've never seen any trains. Just cats."

And so Choo & Choo wile away their days as two fuzz-clad locomotives on a hermit's 200 meter long pipe dream. How many cats live here? Was there a train at one time or was this built for kitties? Only the Choos know. But they scurried down the tracks before we could ask them.

Oscar

Hey, you!  Yeah, that's right, you two.  What are you both looking at?  As a matter of fact I do live in that trash can, big deal. What?  No.  No you guys can't pet Slimey, your hands are too clean.  Huh?  No you can't be Grouchketeers either, you're too old.  Now buzz off!

Exhaust

Hippy 1: "Dude, you have to check out my new car. It is so eco-friendly."

Hippy 2: "What kind is it, man? Hybrid? Electric? Fuel cell?"

Hippy 1: "No way dude, it runs on old cat litter and coughed up hair balls."

HIppy 2: "That's amazing, man. But what about emissions? What comes out of the tail pipe?"

The A-Team: Murdock, Hannibal, and B.A.

As usual, Face's earlier reconnaissance work had given the team the intel they needed to execute their plan. His disguise still in place, Face had been inside the house attending the lavish party for over an hour, mixing with the guests, and creating a well-timed distraction. Hannibal, in the guise of a valet, sat calmly by the green door, waiting for Face's signal, and positioning the rest of his team for their tactical strike. On Hannibal's orders, B.A. had abandoned his sniper position in the tree, his laser eyes initiating their charge cycle.

B.A. always supplied the brute force for these operations, this time being no exception. Face had hoped to conceal B.A.'s brutishness by dressing him in a fine black suit, complete with white ascot and french cuffs. The ruse was effective. Now out of the tree, no one suspected that B.A. was anything more than a late arriving party goer. Murdock's peculiar manner wasn't so easy to conceal though.

Labeled as "adjudicated mentally defective" years ago by a military tribunal, Murdock was the team's wild card. On this mission, as with all the others, Murdock's insanity wouldn't hold the team back, but instead be used to their advantage. He sat nestled under a picnic table in full camouflage, ready to loudly cough up a hair ball, climb someone's pant leg, or provide whatever other distraction the team might need if things went awry.

With B.A.'s and Hannibal's lasers now almost fully charged and Murdock's hair ball at the ready, the team was bristling with anticipation of their impending maneuver. But they hadn't received Face's signal yet...

...Amidst the revelry, Face reclined on a long divan, his tuxedo shirt unbuttoned, enjoying a plate of shrimp. He had forgotten about the rest of his team after his fourth glass of vintage sparkling milk, which someone had spiked with catnip.