The Battle of Vitamix
Though Canada doesn’t have the volume of involvement in military conflicts as the United States, they don’t shy away from fighting, and we’re not talking hockey brawls.
Canada has taken part in many of the greatest conflicts in recent memory; World War I, World War II, Korea and Afghanistan. Now, it’s the Battle of Vitamix.
Unlike the aforementioned hostilities, the Battle of Vitamix is taking place entirely on Canadian soil, specifically in Victoria, British Columbia. It’s not a fight along ideological or religious lines; it’s much worse – species versus species.
Jessica Gerson-Neeves and her wife, Nikii, purchased a Vitamix, high-performance blender on Black Friday and received their upscale mixer a few weeks later. That’s when hostilities commenced between the humans and their three cats.
The felines immediately took custody of the Vitamix box and refuse to give it up. That’s preventing Jessica and Nikki from using their new contraption to make one of their favorite things; smoothies.
It’s assumed the cats want the Vitamix to make their own favorite fish, chicken and beef recipes.
I’ve called this struggle the Battle of Vitamix, but I should call it the Massacre of Vitamix. For reasons that go against the dominance hierarchy, the Homo sapiens have caved in to the trio of Felis catus. That’s because Jessica and Nikii have capitulated ownership of the Vitamix box.
Instead of taking their muted outrage to the United Nations, World Court or Judge Marilyn Milian’s People’s Court, the Gerson-Neeveses ran to Vitamix for relief.
Jessica wrote a wimpy Facebook post to the company that would embarrass the fighting spirit of Canadians everywhere.
“We are the devoted servants of a trio of cats who go by the names of Max; George, Destroyer of Worlds; and Lando Calrissian,” Jessica said, clearly establishing who runs their home.
The humiliating story continued.
“The Vitamix box has been occupied by at least one and sometimes two cats at all times. With three cats and only two humans in the household, the humans are outnumbered and (being giant suckers), both frightened of and unwilling to forcibly relocate the offending cats.
“Yes, we realize we’re absolute madwomen, and yes, we are both ashamed and sorry.”
And so is Canada along with the rest of humanity.
But it gets worse.
“The way to get on with a cat is to treat it as an equal – or even better, as the superior it knows itself to be.”Elizabeth Peters
After informing Vitamix that this saga was drumming up business for their product, Jessica got to the point.
“Is there—I cannot believe I am honestly asking this—any possibility at all that y’all would be willing to send us three (the number is very important, as there are three cats and we need there to be one extra so we can hopefully get the actual blender out of the box) empty Vitamix boxes? Other cardboard boxes seem to lack the appeal of the Vitamix box, and since, much like your wonderful blenders, this stand-off seems to be Built To Last (sic), we’re afraid that this may be our only way out of the situation in which we find ourselves.”
Talk about chutzpah. What’s with using the term “y’all”? Do you think uttering a Southern U.S. term carries more weight than if you just added “eh” to the end of your question. You’re Canadian, sound like it.
Also, I wonder what other companies these two have pawned their story on in order to get more goodies.
Let me play along.
I buy a Ferrari Portofino M, which doesn’t come in a box, because I have and extra $226,000 U.S. / $283,347 CAD, laying around. Now our cat, Chester, sees the Ferrari, jumps in the driver’s seat and won’t get out. He loves the car and wants to take it out for a test drive on I-84 to experience the thrill of doing almost 200mph.
How can I refuse, even though I bought the car for me. Since I don’t want to ruin Chester’s life by taking back what’s mine, I write a letter to Ferrari asking them to send me another Portofino M because of all the business they’re getting from the publicity my cat is generating for their product. I’m sure they would jump at the chance.
Editor’s Note: The highest posted speed limit on I-84 in Connecticut is 65mph. In reality, the slowest anyone drives is 80mph. Chester doing 190mph wouldn’t draw much attention, so long as people are just observing the speed of the car, not who’s driving it.
Back for the conclusion of Gerson-Neeves’ embarrassment of a letter.
“If by some miracle you are actually willing to fulfill the weirdest request ever, please let us know and I will be happy to send along our mailing address. And if, by some miracle, you have the urge to use any of the pictures, (which I have censored, I apologize for my foul mouth) posts in your marketing, at least let us know in advance, so we’re aware that more of the world is going to witness our shame.”
Let me help you with that.
“With desperation and many, many apologies, Jessica Gerson-Neeves,” she dolefully concludes.
I know Canadians are polite, but this is crazy bats**t stuff. I can’t believe a country that gave us Wayne Gretzky, Gordie Howe, K.D. Lang, Neil Young, Drake, William Shatner and Alex Trebek, to name a few, produced such drivel.
This flaccid document makes the Munich Agreement of 1938 that British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain waved, look like a piece of granite. And what did that get Great Britain? World War II.
These ladies profess a love of their cats, but I think they really suffer from ailurophobia (fear of cats). I’d understand it if Max, George: Destroyer of Worlds and Lando Calrissian were lions, tigers or Don Cherry, but they’re frigging house cats.
Jessica Gerson-Neeves didn’t say it in her letter to Vitamix, but it’s clear she and her wife are being bullied by their pets. No doubt they’ve received an avalanche of mean texts, IMs and hissing obscenities from their cats every day since they brought them into their home, or at least when the Vitamix box entered their world.
You know and I know how mean cats can be. They’re narcissistic, psychopathic, histrionic, obsessive-compulsive minded fashionistas.
Jessica describes Nikki and herself as “middle-aged lesbians”. So, imagine the emotional toll they are receiving from their pets’ critiques of their lesbian fashion choices.
“The leather on your Doc Martens looks cheap,” wails Max.
“Your Chloé fringed sweater gives you the bearing of a CFL referee,” George: Destroyer of Worlds, purrs in a high-brow review.
“That ‘Eat Pussy Not Animals’ T-shirt isn’t agreeable with me,” Lando Calrissian says forlornly. “We’re animals too.”
One of the impacts of criticism, is that it leads to anger by the person being criticized. So, woman up Gerson-Neeveses and stop pussyfooting around! Get angry and fight back. Two humans against three house cats shouldn’t be much of a challenge for you. It’s all in your head.
If you don’t have time to read because your situation is deteriorating faster than you thought. Try some Canadian solutions.
- Royal Canadian Mounted Police – Why go to the RCMP for help? Because one of their primary duties is to “assist Canadians in emergency situations/incidents.” You have an emergency situation for sure.
- Canadian Special Operations Forces Command – Why go with CANSOFCOM for help? Because they “deploy special operations forces on very short notice to protect Canadians from threats at home and abroad.” You’re Canadian and you have a threat in your home. Besides, this is the Battle of Vitamix; might as well call in the military.
- Stu Grimson – Why go with “The Grim Reaper“? Because he was one of the biggest badasses in NHL history, racking up 211 fighting majors. Your frightening fur balls will learn quickly why he’s called “The Grim Reaper”. He’s retired so he’s available and he hails from British Columbia. Nothing better than supporting the local community.
Final suggestion – If your three terrorist cats love the blender so much, make some cat smoothies. That way you and them can all get to enjoy the Vitamix together. Nutmeg and a shot of rum will make it go down easier.
P.S. – If you do go the Stu Grimson route, the Vitamix box looks like it can fit three cats. Purrfect for when you need to repurpose the packaging as a casket.
The Devil and Mrs. Minina
If you think Jessica and Nikki Gerson-Neeves are pushovers when it comes to dealing with their cats, imagine how they would handle a Russian feline named Kefir.
Yulia Minina is the owner of Kefir, a Maine Coone. The almost two-year-old “cat” currently weighs 27.5 pounds and still has two more years of development. The average weight of a full-grown Maine Coone male is 18 pounds.
Yulia lives in Stary Oskol, just over 300 miles south of Moscow, with her husband, two daughters and Kefir. They bought Kefir as a kitten and named him after a fermented milk drink. Kefir must have drunk plenty of the beverage to grow so big.
“He not only grew up big in appearance, he is also very smart and always behaves calmly,” Minina told South West News Service.
Does that mean he wouldn’t take undisputed possession of a Vitamix box?
”But when strangers come to the house, everyone first confuses him with a dog,” Minina added.
If you want to confuse Kefir to another animal, I’d go with a Siberian lynx, though the domesticated cat has a much longer tail.
But I don’t think of Kefir as a cat, dog or lynx. At first, I thought it was likely Kefir was a kid in a cat suit, but seeing his eyes, I changed my mind. Instead, I see the Devil. Those piercing eyes are looking deep into your soul.
Cats’ association with Satan goes back to the Middle Ages, when the Catholic Church was looking into the practice of witchcraft by suspected heretic groups.
In the early 1230s, Pope Gregory IX wanted to investigate rumors of devil worshiping in Germany. He sent High Inquisitor, Conrad of Marburg to look into the matter. Employing torture to get confessions out of the suspected heretics, Marburg came back with stories of cats being worshiped, followed by the appearance of a half-man, half cat who embodied the Devil himself.
“The cat is the beautiful devil.”Charles Bukowski
Gregory then issued a Vox in Rama associating cats with witchcraft. Bad news for the cats, particularly black ones. What followed were mass killings of cats throughout Europe. So depleted was the cat population, it’s believed it led to the bubonic plague since there weren’t enough felines to kill the rats carrying the Black Death. In reality it was the fleas on the rats, not the rats themselves that carried the plague. Nevertheless, 20 million people died from the disease, one-third of the continent’s population.
Sounds like the work of the Devil.
In England, merchant William Caxton compared how cats caught rodents, with the Devil snatching souls. “The devil playeth ofte with the synnar, lyke as the catte doth with the mous,” Caxton said.
By the way, that’s how I spell too.
In 1862, there was a report of a Demon Cat inside the U.S. Capitol. The Washington Post reported on the incident in an 1898 story, saying at first it was a regular proportioned cat but quickly grew to the ““size of an elephant before the eyes of a terrified observer.”
In 1935, a person told the Post that the Demon Cat’s eyes “glow with the all the hue and ferocity of the headlights of a fire engine.”
It’s unclear if the Demon Cat participated in the January 6 capitol riot.
In 2021, an exorcist warned a Green Bay, Wisconsin woman that her cat, Pixel, was possessed by a demon and should be imprisoned and prayed over.
‘I had a message from this person telling me that they were an ‘exorcist’ and Pixel had been ‘taken over by a demon that was controlling his face’,’ Alyson Kalhagen told the Kennedy News Service. “I think he was trying to tell me that’s why my cat is making all of these crazy faces.”
Kalhagen did not hire the exorcist.
Pixel’s initial comment was, “Go Packers!” Then, after the 49ers stunned his beloved team, Pixel meowed things that can’t be printed in The Chester Chronicles. That was followed by a far-off stare of disappointment. All this explains his crazy looking facial expressions. It’s what most fans look like when rooting for their team.
I showed Chester the pictures of Kifer and Pixel plus their stories as well as some other cat history. Aside from being impressed with the Russian cat’s size, Chester didn’t think much of the Devil/cat relationship.
“Cats are born crazy,” Chester said. “Not in a Satanic way, they’re just naturally crazy.
“We chase the light from a laser pointer for no reason, climb curtains, try to trip people on the steps and lick our asses all day. That’s just how we’re wired. I don’t see Satan doing that stuff. Though I do wonder about your team. You Jets fans must have sold your soles to Beelzebub in order to win Super Bowl III, and now you’re paying for it the rest of your mortal lives, with greater agony every year.
“Cats have nine lives, but I’m not sharing any of them with you because your team sucks,” Chester added, as if he were twisting a knife in my back.
My tormenting tabby drove me to wanting to take one of his lives, but I decided better of it. I couldn’t deny the truth, my team is really bad.
“You want to watch the playoffs,” I asked my non-demonic cat. “I’ll heat up some popcorn and you can have an extra ration of kibble.”
“Give me the remote,” Chester said gleefully.