Chimney Sweep

It was Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. night and The Precious made a motion, which I seconded, to have a fire in the fireplace.  I like fire.  So The Precious built a nice big crackly one, and we turned off the lights and settled in for a visit with Phil Coulson (his first name is Agent), while the Lady of the House watched over her kittens in front of the TV.
About fifteen minutes into the show, a sudden large dark mass of slobbery shag dropped out of nowhere smack-dab in the middle of the room.  It took a few seconds to figure out that it was a cat.  A long-haired cat.  Definitely not a house cat.  In fact, it wasn't even our cat.  Everybody started talking.
"Who is that?"
"It's that stray!"
"What in the world is wrong with it?"
"Why is its face all icky?"
"How did he get in here?"
"Did somebody leave the back door open?"
"He just jumped out of the fireplace!"
"How do we catch him and get him out of here?"
"He's covered in soot!"
"Is he bloody?"
"It's slobber, his lungs are burned!"
Just then the Lady of the House noticed our unexpected guest, and she didn't waste time asking questions.  She simply unleashed an assault.  Agent Coulson was drowned out by clouds of ash, clumps of fur, and screams of animals.  Poor Mark Sinclair Vincent St. Agnes von Lichtenschtein got caught in the crossfire, which gave the chimney sweep a split-second to seek refuge down the hall under Lefty's bed.
Hunneypunkin began hollering instructions that nobody heard.  Lefty intercepted the Lady of the House and managed to shut her with her children in the utility room without losing any blood or limbs.  Angel Doll and Pixie spirited Mark Sinclair Vincent St. Agnes von Lichtenschtein away to the safety of the princess chambers.  I Googled "how to treat smoke inhalation in cats" while The Precious held his head and rocked himself and shouted, "Stupid cats, we're missing Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.!"
Someone managed to get the stray back outside, where he apparently got enough rest and fresh air to recover even without my internet knowledge.  There's a grate over the chimney now to prevent further incidents.  We've had a cat in the chimney before, but not during fire season.  http://chevroletmama.blogspot.com/2012/10/chewables-thinks-hes-spaniard.html  It took a day or so to get all the sootprints cleaned up and the smoky smell out of the bedroom.
We missed most of the show that night, but it's not that big of a deal.  We can always catch up online or wait for a rerun.  Now if I had missed an episode where Jeremy Renner had made a guest appearance as The Hawk, that would have been a real burn.

Chewables Thinks He's a Spaniard

Chewables imagines himself a real Don Juan, and he totally doesn't get that that's exactly what the ladies don' wan'.  We should have foreseen this when he was a kitten and Pixie named him Chewy because when you pet him he bites you.  He grew up and continued to express his affections by biting, particularly his fellow felines on the backs of their necks.
His name morphed into "Chewables" simply because it's funny, but he prefers the pronunciation "She-WAH-blez" because he thinks he's some kind of a Spaniard.  Honestly, he'd have conversations on the patio with my uncle who was learning to speak Spanish while ignoring the rest of us because we were using regular English.  It really ticked me off that Chewables would act so cavalier, because he was born right here just like the rest of us.
Chewables' penchant for chomping his peers grew problematic.  The other cats started complaining.  Loudly.  At 2 AM.  Every.  Single.  Night.
I would find Chewables crouching on the roof in the morning.  He would look down at me and sigh, in his best Spanish accent, "The ladies, they are always chasing me."

Pixie spent an entire day last summer looking for Chewables.  "I can hear him," she said, "but I can't find him anywhere."  Lefty found him.  After dark.  In the chimney.  Hunneypunkin pulled him out of the fireplace, coated in soot since he'd been there all day, and all Chewables had to say was, "The Lady of the House, she was calling to me."  The Lady of the House narrowed her eyes, laid back her ears, switched her tail, and growled at him from her usual berth on Lefty's arm.
Something had to be done.  I even discussed with Hunneypunkin how we might have Chewables relocated, but Angel Doll loves him and her heart would be broken.  Ultimately Chewables was sent to the vet.  You know, to be tutored.  But he didn't learn a thing.  He still strolls down the sidewalk in pursuit of the kitty contessas, winks at me through his Zorroesque mask, and says, rolling his r's, "I am the Jeremy Renner of the kitty kingdom, am I not?"