a day in the life of jonsey the cat!!!

LMFAO! Maybe they should have got Jonesy to write the script for Prometheus

haha, too funny. I loved it though.

very funny

[size=200]MY DAY BY JONESY: A CAT'S EYE VIEW OF ALIEN[/size] [size=200][/size] [img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MwPWC2yJSKI/TbwH-biMlFI/AAAAAAAAAfw/HdGleyYqPE0/s400/alien01.jpg[/img] When, at the end of Alien, Sigourney Weaver says, "This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off," she's not telling the whole truth. Because there's another survivor, curled up with her in the hypersleep capsule. Jones (or Jonesey) the ginger tom. Jones serves multiple functions within the Alien storyline: 1) CATGUFFIN, a pretext for characters to go wandering off on their own. 2) CATPANION, an excuse for Ripley to express herself out loud when she's otherwise alone. 3) CATSHOCK, a cheap shock tactic in which the cat jumps out unexpectedly. 4) CATSCALLION, a wild card; at the end of the film, the cat might yet be harbouring an alien. In short, one cannot overestimate the importance of Jones to Alien. This is his story. [size=200]MY DAY by JONESY[/size] Y-a-w-n. Was just having a pleasant dream about eviscerating a small family of fieldmice when the can-opener tipped me off her chest by sitting up. Impossible to go back to sleep with the can-openers all aflutter like this. S-t-r-e-t-c-h. They seem to think we're home. I could tell them we're not, but I'll leave them to work that out for themselves. No sense of direction, these people. But hey, since I'm awake, might as well take advantage of the situation to tuck into some moggynosh. I eat at the big table, like everyone else. I have my own bowl with JONES painted on the side so the can-openers won't steal my food. Since it doesn't look as though anyone's going back into hypersleep any time soon, I do my usual patrol around the bowels of the ship. Yeah, no changes here. Everything just as I left it. But all that patrolling is exhausting, so I take a nap behind some nice warm pipes in one of the boiler rooms. Hmmmm. Hamsters. Crunchy little bones. Hmmmm.. Woken by the ship landing somewhere. Not Earth though, so go back to sleep. Woken again by a lot of shouting and neurotic activity coming from somewhere on the far side of the vessel. Honestly, can't these people show a hardworking feline any respect? But hey, since I'm up now, might as well go on the hunt for space rodents. Space rodents! Who am I kidding? No such thing, of course. When we first took off from earth, many cat-years ago, there was a family of rats nesting in the engine room, but I soon sorted them out. Maybe too soon; maybe I should have left them alone to breed a bit, so their descendants could have entertained me during the rest of the voyage. There's nothing left to hunt. Nothing. But how was I to know we'd be cooped up for so long? Anyhow, I offered generous gifts of dead rat to everyone in the crew, except the one who doesn't smell like the others; he tried to stroke me once, but got the rhythm all wrong and his fingers were too hard, so mainly I steer clear of him now. [img]http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_l4__j_3Ppo/TbwIHIwR8rI/AAAAAAAAAgA/wOgg0e1ubIM/s400/alien07.jpg[/img] Doze off again in the utility room, then wake up for another round of patrolling, which wears me out, so I nap some more. Who needs hypersleep, eh? But all this exercise has made me hungry, so when I'm woken up by more noise and activity, this time coming from the region of the mess, I stroll over to see what's going on. Dinner time again! Yippee! There's a weird smell in the air, something I've never smelt before - maybe they found something new to eat on that planet we landed on - but before I get a chance to track it back to its source, my food is being set in front of me. Yum. I'm not sitting at the big table this time, but that's OK, they put my special bowl on the worktop behind the can-opener who's not like the others. I keep an eye on him as I'm eating, because he's behaving even more oddly than usual. He reminds me of me, when I'm wiggling my butt, preparing to pounce on a small edible creature. He's not a cat, though. I'm not sure what he is. Anyhow, we're all tucking in together and everyone seems quite jolly when all of a sudden one of the other can-openers throws a fit and starts going into spasms on the table, and I realise the weird new smell has been coming from him all along. All the other can-openers are making a gigantic fuss of spasm-guy, and I feel a bit left out and wonder whether I should reclaim their attention with some cute feline antics. But next thing you know, shazzam! Spasm-guy has suddenly given birth to a hairless kitten with teeth! Catastrophe! Now no-one is paying me any attention at all, even though the hairless kitten clearly has no idea how to behave in can-opener company. Even when it scuttles off, the can-openers are too preoccupied with it to notice me. Honestly, if I'd known it would get that sort of reaction, I too would have burst out of someone's chest like a cheap birthday cake stripper. I slink out of the mess room and off into a corner of a store area for a good sulk, and then the sulk turns into another nap. Hmmm. Big fat guinea-pigs, squealing as I... Woken by the sound of approaching can-openers. They think they're being stealthy, but honestly, they don't have a clue - sounds like a herd of elephants. They're behaving oddly, whispering to one another; I'm sensing fear, so I decide to cheer them up by jumping out unexpectedly. Ye gods! You'd have thought I'd scratched them, or something. Talk about overreaction. Anyhow, they don't seem to appreciate my friendly gesture so I skedaddle into the all-weather vehicle room. Aha, the hairless kitten has been in here, I can tell. And here's one of the can-openers, coming after me to apologise for his graceless behaviour. He's going, "Here kitty, kitty, kitty" and making miaowing noises. Who does he think he's kidding? It's embarrassing. Even the new-born hairless kitten isn't going to fall for that crap. In fact, this can-opener is starting to piss me off with the patent insincerity of his "Here Jonesey" schtick so I scamper next door into the room where they keep the big drill... [img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-syaT-oFt1IM/TbwIJFezu7I/AAAAAAAAAgE/P68sXEckh2Y/s400/alien08.jpg[/img] Uh-oh. Something not quite right in here. Better retreat into a small corner, just in case. Manage to avoid the pouring rain in the middle of the room, though the can-opener, who's followed me, hangs around in it, like he thinks he's taking a shower or something. Honestly, humans really are stupid. Anyhow, the hairless kitten pops up behind him, except it appears to have had some sort of growth spurt, so I hiss at it, just to show it who's boss, and that seems to work since it ignores me completely and decides to play with the can-opener instead. Even so, I'm a little miffed at being ignored again, so eventually I turn my back on them both, and leave them to it. I spend some time finding a suitable place to take a siesta; what with all the shouting and running around, it's getting increasingly difficult to kip in this madhouse. It's just non-stop games of human hide-and-seek. Honestly, why can't they just kick back and relax, like me? I finally manage to find some relative tranquility in the control room, which is usually full of activity but now mercifully empty, and embark on a long and extremely pleasurable dream in which I catch and lovingly dismember a small family of voles. I'm about to have some fun with the last surviving baby vole when I'm woken up by the sound of one of the can-openers calling my name. I can sense she's upset and very frightened, so I do my best to cheer her up by leaping out unexpectedly. Strangely, this only succeeds in upsetting her even more, so when she approaches me again I go all floppy and allow her to pick me up. Tricked! Never trust a can-opener. Too late, I see the dreaded catbasket, the one they use whenever they want to take me to the Cat Doctor of Evil, and before I have time to react I'm being thrust inside and next thing you know, I'm trapped. Darn! [img]http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XFn0IlQ0Iis/TbwJQaDw63I/AAAAAAAAAgI/Fj6dLdTJMsA/s400/alien04.jpg[/img] Nostromo is making hysterical hooting noises and flashing its lights on and off. This is all rather exciting, but as I'm being ferried through the passages and walkways I feel helpless, and would really rather be free to run around. Also, the can-opener is hurling herself around like nobody's business, so it's not a smooth journey, I can tell you. Anyhow we roll to a stop, and I can tell straightaway it's because we've run slap-dab into the hairless kitten again. Only I'm not sure I can call it a kitten any more - it's really big now. Honestly, it's like a super-giant cat. But since it's still only a few hours old and clearly hasn't been housetrained and hasn't a clue how to groom itself or behave in can-opener company, I shall continue to call it a kitten. Because, technically, that's what it is. [img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W2yLdWwRZmA/TbwIC7QS7DI/AAAAAAAAAf4/IRDVDAoUDgw/s400/alien03.jpg[/img] And what does the can-opener do? She drops me there and runs away, leaving me trapped in the catbasket. Oh thank you SO much! As I was saying earlier, never trust can-openers further than you can throw them. Anyhow, looks like I'm on my own with the giant killer-kitten, which looks at me curiously, evidently unable to ascertain whether I'm further up or further down the food-chain, and whether I should be eaten or worshipped. Food-chain be damned, because I'm sure as hell a lot further up the evolutionary scale when it comes to intelligence. So I seize my opportunity and say, "Hey kitty, you do realise you're going about this the wrong way?" The giant killer-kitten appears to be listening, though it's not easy to say for sure since its body language is on a par with that of a giant mollusc. But I carry on anyway. "You want the can-openers to serve you? You want them to jump to your every command? OK, enough already with this proboscis-through-the-brain stuff (yeah, I saw what you did to that can-opener back there). Honestly, I can tell you right now this is not going to get you anywhere. If you really want to control them then you're going to have to act cute. You know, roll on your back, show them your tummy, get them to tickle you or something. They seem to like it when you nuzzle them, too. You might try nuzzling them with that proboscis of yours - though not too hard, and not through the brain, OK?" The giant killer-kitten isn't saying anything. Keeping its cards close to its chest. Too late, I start wondering whether it was such a bright idea to share my secrets of world domination with this upstart. What if the can-openers find it cuter and more amusing than me? Worse, what if they start giving it all my food in a special bowl marked GIANT KILLER-KITTEN? I have a few moments of panic before I realise the giant kitten is gone, undoubtedly to roll on its back and get tickled by the can-openers. Oh crap. Looks like I fucked up royally there. All this noise and chaos is getting on my nerves, plus I don't want to think what the hairless kitten might be up to, so I block everything out and try to get as comfortable as I can in the catbasket, and even manage to doze off for a while, only to get rudely jerked back into consciousness when the can-opener rematerialises and grabs the catbasket again. For heaven's sake, can't she carry me without battering me against the walls? Anyhow we go into a part of the spaceship I've never been in before, which makes me curious, but I can't get out to explore properly and before I know what's going on she's transferring me from the catbasket to a hypersleep capsule and closing the top, shutting me in. I missed a trick there, really should have made a break for it during the transfer, so I grumble a bit, not that she can hear because the Nostromo is now making a ridiculous amount of noise and flashing lights and letting off steam and stuff. And they say I'm an attention-seeker. [img]http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2pnuseKXdLs/TbwIBMdCFBI/AAAAAAAAAf0/ZraP2dLe31E/s400/alien02.jpg[/img] Anyhow I'm settling down, trying to make the best of a bad situation and thinking at least this is more comfortable than being banged around in that stupid basket. But no sooner have I thought that then the entire room is being banged around like crazy, and I realise the part of the Nostromo we're in has detached itself. It's kind of like a mini-Nostromo! Whatever. Then there's some sort of blinding flash and a lot more turbulence before, finally, everything calms down. To my surprise I see, just before the can-opener does, that the giant hairless kitten has snuck into the mini-Nostromo with us, and has evidently taken my advice to heart, because instead of thrusting its proboscis straight through the can-opener's brain, it's hanging back and acting cute. Or trying to act cute, because, frankly, it still has a lot to learn. All that coy tentacle-uncoiling doesn't seem to be amusing the can-opener at all. In fact, even from inside the hypersleep capsule I can see she's freaked out by it. She's backing into a sort of closet, as far away from the giant hairless kitten as possible, and is climbing into some sort of animal trainer's padded suit, presumably so she won't get scratched if the giant kitten lashes out unexpectedly. I wonder whether to intervene, whether to tell her that, in fact, the giant hairless killer-kitten is really only following my advice and trying to be friendly. But then I think, Nah. This mini-Nostromo isn't big enough. In fact it's really rather small. Room for just one cat at a time.

Sickeningly cute. LOL!

ha! ..those stupid can openers......brilliant 10/10. struck a chord as ive always wondered what the alien POV was... tastes like chicken!

Absolute gold! Laughed my arse off :-D