The cats, they are a-caucusin'

You know how it is. You buy a George Bush-shaped catnip toy (in the current Patriot Act environment, it seems even a little prudent to train a pair of furry fanged commandos in such a way). The cats are delighted for about six weeks, and then a drool-soaked Shrubya disappears somewhere in some couch cushion crack, or something, never to be seen again.

Well, almost never. Nearly a year later, he makes an abrupt reappearance. You find him face down on the welcome mat, next to a small puddle of regurgitated Purina.

They seem to be trying to communicate with us, my kitties do, but what? What is it that they're trying to say?