Rupert (the Wonder Beagle) sometimes gets so excited by something (my coming home, food, a squeaky toy) that he won’t pay attention to where he’s standing and will accidentally fall off the couch or bed. He always immediately looks around frantically, as if he’s trying to find the evil person who pushed him off.
One of my kitty boys, Pierre, is a very beautiful ginger and white longhair, but incredibly lazy and really not very bright. If I bust out the kitty toys, he’ll lie flat on his back and expect me to dangle the toy within his reach. He’s not going to exert himself or anything, you understand. The one exception to the no physical exertion rule is the armadillo hop. If he is startled, he will jump straight up in the air just like, well, an armadillo. It is hilarious just to see normally, but then there was the time when he was under the table and my husband dropped something in the kitchen. I could hear his little head bounce off the underside of the table. I am a very evil kitty mommie because I laughed until I cried.
Two tales of the Fuzzy Black Land Shark in my house.
First: He sleeps in the bed next to me. He has learned that when the clock radio starts playing music, it’s just a few minutes until the alarm goes off and Big Pink gets out of bed to feed him. The music (or talk, if it’s on NPR) sometimes wakes me up. So while I’m lying there, I feel the cat shifting about, stretching, licking himself, and so on. Then he casually climbs up onto my stomach, pads up to my chest, and puts himself nose to nose with me. And then he waits. And waits. And after a minute or so, he’ll start purring, anticipating the end of my slumber and the deposit of tasty kibble in his bowl.
And if the alarm goes off, and I don’t respond immediately, he will sometimes lean in and bite me gently on the shoulder.
The second one is kind of hard to describe. Work with me here.
He and I have regular play time in the evening. I typically use the Kitty Wand, which is sort of like a fishing pole: a black plastic handle about two feet long, a yellow string of equivalent length attached to one end, and a “bloom” of crinkled mylar strips on the end of the string. He loves chasing the bloom around; he comes running if he hears it rustling in another room. When he’s really worked up, I can “jump” it over his head, and he leaps straight up and back, doing a full backflip as it sails past.
That’s funny, but it’s not the funniest thing.
When he starts to get tired, he won’t leap any more; he’ll just make tighter circles until he flops over onto his side, and stretches out with half-hearted swipes at the passing bloom. I’ll swing it past him, and he’ll swipe at it. Repeat a few times. Then he stretches out on his side, continuing to swipe.
And if I do it long enough, he rolls onto his back, withholds his swipe on one or two passes, and then… he spazzes out. It’s like he wants to go completely airborne from his back, but he also wants to catch the toy with all four pointy limbs. The paws spread, the claws come out, his spine writhes madly, and his four legs go into jerky spasms.
This lasts two seconds, tops, and then he flips onto his feet and sprints away.
It’s hilarious. 
These are hysterical. I thought we were the only ones brought to laughing tears by our cats.
Emmy talks to Q-Tips. She has ever since she was a baby - I don’t know if she considers them her ‘special friends’ or what, but when she was a baby, we once heard her in the living room going “Mrow? Mra-mrow-mra-mrow. Mra? Mra! Mra!”. My roommate and I made our way into the living room to discover our cute little girl cat having a one-sided conversation with the Q-Tip she’d apparently pulled from the garbage. Now we MUST give her our Q-Tips when we’ve finished with them under threat of death by claw. She will see us take a Q-tip from the bathroom cabinet and follow us around until we’re done with it, crying at us to give it to her. Then she talks to it.
She also used to lick Calista Flockhart’s head whenever Ally McBeal was on TV. Maybe she was trying to tell her “Eat a damn sandwich!”?
Oscar thinks he’s a dog. When my husband and I moved into our house, my uncle came to do some handywork. Oscar followed him everywhere in the house and sat with him while he worked. He’d go to the basement - Oscar would go to the basement. He’d go to the bedroom - Oscar would go to the bedroom. We’re not sure if he thought my uncle needed protection or what, but apparently, he did.
Both cats spy on our neighbors. We have a window seat in our dining room that looks onto the house next door and it’s driveway - they will both sit on it and watch the neighbors intently as they got out of or into their cars. Our old neighbors thought it was funny - the guy who lived there would wave at them when he was coming or going - but we’re not sure if that’s why the new neighbors moved out after two months (this house is a rental).