Mild-mannered kittens by day and relentless superheroes by night, we are Chaos and Entropy (a.k.a. Spunk and Teddy), fighting tidiness wherever we find it.
Before our Mama Kitty left his world, she told us that in order to survive, we must submit to our keepers, but we must never forget that humans use only 1/10th of their brain potential. We didn’t believe it could be true until we moved to Living Room, full of the stifled destiny of throw rugs and throw pillows folded into neat square blocks and lined up in a row. We saw a great challenge before us, to transform your dull and orderly world into an ever-changing blanket cascade flowing over a mountain of fluff and upholstery.
But where would we start with a species so uptight that it consumes its food from an organized pile, never even touching it with your marvelous opposable thumbs? Where we come from, in Dumpster, dinner is an experience; it is to be dug into, fought for, and savored. It is a badge of honor to be covered in it, and a sign of respect to be licked clean after it. Now, we’re not saying we don’t enjoy the occasional can of juicy turkey giblets, so we keep it neat so as not to be misconstrued; a cat’s gotta work within the system. But we take liberties with the dry chow and are slowly training our keeper in the fine art of Ping-the-Friskies.
This incremental progress is mildly satisfying, but over the holiday weekend, our greater reason for being came into focus during a marathon of made-for-TV movies. We and our kitten minions must show keepers all over the world the true joy of Christmas. Stacks of catalogs must be toppled and skid upon. Boxes and paper packaging must be rescued from Dumpster even as we were. We will wrestle every wayward sunspot and root out electrical cords and forgotten trinkets from every dark corner and hidey hole where they exist.
We will stimulate that dark 9/10th of your brain and free your orderly neurosis. We will teach you not to ignore even a single loose thread, to appreciate all your treasures. Because, in the wise words of our dear Mama Kitty, dangling ornaments and twinkling lights don’t grow on trees, you know.
Author Krista Tibbs 
