The colossal manhunt for killer robot Maskatron has come to a dead end. Agent Kill-joy, whom we suspected of being kidnapped, was found safe and sound in a Nepalese monastery, where he's been learning the ancient art of "mindflossing" from one of the last living masters of the discipline. We hope that he makes it back to civilization in good stead, so that he can instruct us in the methods of keeping our brains free from unsightly plaque build up.
Yet the Fakiegrind security breach and information leak remains a fact, as does the sinister launch of the detractor site Operation: Black Cheddar, and we are left with the pressing question: who is Maskatron?
Earlier today, while cleaning the kitty litter, I was struck by a dark, troubling thought. What if Maskatron has somehow disguised himself, not as a humanoid Fakie Agent, but as my feline companion, Tigerman? What if?!
Is this the face of a robotic assassin?
Once my mind set down this unpleasant corridor of thought, some unsetting facts began to fall into place. For one, Tigerman was out playing in the snow yesterday as if it were the first time he'd seen the stuff, when in actuality it is at least the second time that I have brought him out to frolic in the white.
Make sure that snow doesn't short a circuit, Kitty-tron!
Furthermore, when I let Tigerman out to roam at night he sometimes doesn't return until the wee hours of the morning, at which time I have to rouse myself from slumber to let him back in the house. Could he somehow be running secret reconnoissance to the Xister or his minions? Is his waking me at ungodly hours some kind of plot to undermine my beauty rest and weaken my mental stamina?
He's messing with my mind.
The problem is, after reviewing the literature it appears that no one's ever bothered to develop a robot detection test for cats! The Xister's really got me in a bind. We'll have to develop a new questionnaire, or possibly call in a specialist. Dr. Flavour, however, is still not answering the holo-cam. I've got enough catnip to keep the creature doped up for another five hours or so, but after that I may be in trouble.