Iran has been stringing us along for a while now, teasing the world with suggestions that it is moving two steps forward, one step back, in its bid to become a nuclear power. Now it has confirmed that it has advanced to the final stage before commencing production: It has converted 37 tons of raw uranium into gas, said to be good for at least five nukes.

Many in the West have been puzzled by Iran's actions over the past couple of years. Its announcements and pronouncements have been confusing, to say the least, and the EU and UN (in the guise of its toothless nuclear Chihuahua, Mohammed ElBaradai, known in the Hip Hop world as Mo El Bee) have been scrambling to find a way to forestall what seems to be inevitable and would, inevitably, be calamitous: atomic weaponry in the hands of crazed religious totalitarians.

After much head-scratching and research, I am pleased to announce I have finally figured out what the mullahs are up to. And it's as simple as that old joke about a cat on the roof.

You might remember it: A man calls his brother, who's looking after his cat while he's on away on vacation, to ask how his pet is doing.

"Well, actually," says the brother, "your cat fell off the roof. It's dead."

"Whadya mean it's dead?" says the cat owner. "That's a terrible way to tell a person something awful has happened. You have to prepare someone for catastrophe. For example, when I phoned today to ask about Mr. Fluffles, you should have said, "Mr. Fluffles climbed out the window, but we think we can get him down from the ledge. Then, next time I called, you should have said, "Mr. Fluffles managed to climb from the ledge to the roof, but he seems to be staying put, and we're calling the Fire Department to come get him down. Then, next time you should have said, "Well, the Fire Department sent up two of its best men, but Mr. Fluffles managed to jump out of their grasp and fell off the roof. I'm really sorry, but he didn't make it. That's how you prepare a person for the unthinkable."

"You're right," said his brother. "That was very insensitive of me. I promise it won't happen again."

A few weeks later, the owner of the deceased cat is away on business, and, unable to contact his mother, he phones his brother to find out if he's heard from her.

"I've been trying to get hold of Mom," he says. "Have you spoken to her?"

To which his brother replies: "Mom's on the roof."

And if you're wondering what Mr. Fluffles has to do with the meshuganeh mullahs, it's this: replace "cat" with "nukes" and, voila, their inscrutable actions suddenly become clear. The nukes are on the roof, and the world had better pay heed before they jump off.