Double the trouble
I aquired my 2 cats some years ago while under the influence of alcohol. I only wanted 1 cat but there was two left of the litter and the women who had them had called the mother, (a black cat, Nigger). I felt that I should save them both from this obviously racist women. They are named Gilbert and George. Anyone of an artistic bent will know who I am speaking off. They even resemble the artists, although they dont share the artists love of everything homoerotic.(Who can tell though, they were neutered.

What can I say. They kill birds, they shed hair and Gilbert throws up a lot. My bed is full of hair, cat dribble and gravel. They would rather wait till someone opens the front door for them than use the cat flap on the back door. After 9 years I still have to point to the food in the bowl before they eat it. They cant stand each other and sleep in the most dangerous places for me to trip up.

I've got another 4 or 5 years of this silliness and then I'm getting a tortoise.
( girlinthehole, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:43, Reply)

cats cats cats
Ours was a cat family. Before our Gran moved in, we had accumulated five...Gran, being of the divorced and demented denomination, had nineteen of the buggers...at one point I knew all their names, but I digress...

A noteworthy character was Murray, a slithe and nimble fellow, who liked nothing better than deftly skipping up your leg, scaling your back and coming to rest on your shoulders like a ginger scarf. Since he was so delicate of frame, it was a while before he started to get heavy.

The problem came with Deckland, a tabby who was built like a tank. He was clearly up for what Murray was getting, and would also try to reach your shoulders, unfortunately in a far less graceful manner, what with the scrabbling and the claws, the tearing and the colossal weight of a muscular tabby on your shoulders...

Then there was Jasper, a jet black, charismatic and affable chap, who unfortunately became a rapist in later life...poor, weak defenseless Snoopy...

...and Esmerelda, a handy lady to have about the place, for when another cat was sick, she would zoom in and lap it up completely, a dangerous "don't come anywhere near me!" look in her eyes...
(Shining Love Pig, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:40, Reply)

Not a story, per se
Just an assortment of little facts about my cat Spook. She's a tiny little white nutter whose snores drown out music, and who instills fear into the hearts of next door's dogs.
This is her on her cat-tree.


When she wants a scratch, she doesn't climb onto the different levels, the way a normal cat would; she just scampers up the side like a squirrel. One day we put catnip on the top level, she rolled around in it for a bit, and then rolled right off the edge and splatted on the floor. She's even managed to pull the whole thing down with her before.


She likes to sit on the top level, as in the picture, and shout at people. Only, she doesn't have a voice, so she really just opens her mouth angrily at people when they walk past. Unless they're my mam, then she hits her on the head. Nobody else, just my mam.


I'll miss her when I go to uni in September. :(
( Kittenpants, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:31, Reply)

When I was growing up...
...we had a cat and a dog. As we all know, cats are smart and dogs are.....not.

My cat used to torment the dog something rotten. When she was bored, she would attack the dog and get him worked up till he started chasing her. Then she would run around the sofa a couple of times, with the dog in tow, before jumping onto the armrest. When in prime position, she would whack the dog as he ran past. And being.....not smart, he would run around and around the sofa, convinced that if he just ran fast enough he would catch that pesky cat. He would run faster and faster until eventually he would collapse from exhaustion in a heap, at which point the cat would get bored and eat the dog's food.
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:29, Reply)

Sam
Take one grumpy ginger cat, remove one rear leg (cancerous lump) and watch how it improves his mood we also had a better tempered tabby. They were masters of tormenting the labrador next door and it is the only time the two cats got on. One would sit with a paw stuck through the hole in the fence, said lab would spot this run over barking and stick it's nose through the hole at which point of course the cat would strike and the dog would run off whining. At this point the cats would swap and the other one would stick it's paw through the fence... and on it went. My dad eventually took pity on the dog and blocked the hole in the fence!

My current cat is the cuddliest I've ever met but it can be a bit much when every time you stop moving for more than a couple of seconds he sits on you. His best move has been to wake me up by bringing in a live bird and letting it go in the bedroom at 6am a couple of days after I had knee surgery. It's such good fun hopping naked around your bedroom trying to catch the cat and throw him out and then rescue his catch and thow that out too. Just to add insult this was the stroppiest sparrow I've ever met and it pecked me constantly until I managed to chuck it out of the window!
(cmouse is pondering about life in other jobs, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:29, Reply)

I don't remember where I heard this
so I make no claims that it's true, but it doesn't seem too farfetched, and anyway it's a cute idea.

I heard once about a parrot whose owners taught it to respond to "Can you talk?" with "I can talk, but can you fly?"

I got a kick out of it, I'd love to see the reactions it got :)
(RDT <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <><, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:26, Reply)

Zebra Finches
it's my first post, so be gentle with me.

I am the only person I know that has owned Zebra Finches as pets.

We found the first one after the Great Storm of 1987 (I was a mere 3 years old at the time, but i do remember him quite clearly), and so we subsequently named him Windsday, after the Winnie the Pooh rhyme that had featured in one of the classic cartoons.

He was a beautiful bird, brightly coloured plumage, but he started to look rather lonely so we had to find him a mate. which we named happy (Happy Windsday, if anyone remembers this, good effort!)

Happy was plainer, but together they had babies. Three of them. Loppy, Bunikin (yes, yes, I know, but I didn't have rabbits) and Yogi. Alas, poor Yogi died. i seem to remember finding him and thinking he looked like a turtle, as he was still in his infancy.

The birds provided me and my brother with much enjoyment, as at the ages of three and one, small animals tend to do. They used to land in the light shade shaped like a hot-air balloon, and sit in the passenger bit. Classic. Great memories that will stay with me forever.

Then, as soon as they had arrived, they were gone. I remember being distraught, and my mother taking me to Gatwick Zoo to show me that 'they were there, they'd just moved to a new home.' I think I even pretended that I recognised one of them.

I found out a few years later what had happened. my dad had left the window open (whether by accident or on purpose, I'll never know. i don't really want to) and they'd all flown out. Probably mauled by some ghastly mog somewhere. or maybe they had actually gone to gatwick Zoo.

I live in hope.

Apologies for lack of humour, I'll think of some funny stories soon! I promise!
(pacman_40 Pocket Kleenex: for the wanker on the go, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:26, Reply)

More pussy related shenanigans
My parents have 4 cats, 2 half breed Siamese who are now approaching their 13th birthday, and 2 British Shorthairs who are now 9.

The female Siamese is the strangest cat I've ever met. She likes licking things that shouldn't be licked. Belly button fluff, toe jam, arse crack fluff, sweaty armpits, and on one occasion, someone's balls. She also has a habit of carrying stuffed toys or rolled up pairs of socks round the house and leaving them in the least obvious places, whilst making the most blood-curdling noises I've ever heard.

Both the Siamese refuse to drink from their water bowl. Muddy puddles, watering cans and chicken bowls being their favourites.

One of the British Shorthairs is afraid of everything, even his own shadow at times. He caught a mouse once which he left very much alive. Said mouse proceeded to sit up and have a look round before having a wash, which prompted him to run away. From a mouse.

His brother, on the other hand, seems to be completely fearless (but also slightly deaf and a dolly mixture short of a quarter). He often disappears in the summer for a couple of days, then comes home completely starving and needing sleep. Though quite why he's hungry when he's more than capable of catching his own I don't know.
(Prawn, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:26, Reply)

Vegetarian Rat
My older sis was so proud of the fact that her rat, Raquel, was a vegetarian. Little did she know that I used to let moths in and watch Raquel the Rat chase, kill and eat the poor butterflies of the night. Oh the joy.
(venusasaboyo cot death removal man since, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:23, Reply)

Death warrant for cats
Avoid naming them after brand-name food products. out of the 5 cats I have owned, the 3 that were run over and killed to death were "Tizer", "Marmite" and "Branston". They are survived by "Treacle" and "Stumpy/Goggle" (My daughter renamed "Stumpy" to "Goggle" in that way only a 2 year old can explain).

I love cats, but I find there wanton vandalism of furniture and random toilet functions a real pain, suffice to say, Treacle and Stumpy will the last moggies in the Splurgle household.
(urgle-splurgle molesting small goats since, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:21, Reply)

Cartoon Cappers
When I lived at home we had a cat called George who was always catching poor unsuspecting furries and bring them home through the cat flap for closer inspection.
One night I was awoken to hear some sort of commotion in the kitchen and went down to investigate. I opened the kitchen door quietly, lent in to switch the light on and experienced what to this day is both the funniest and surreal moment of my life.

In the middle of the kitchen floor was George with his back to the door. In the left corner was a mouse and to the right corner was a Duck!

As I turned on the light all three stopped what they were doing and looked up at me. It did cross my mind that I was actually dreaming about myself in a cartoon.

After I stopped laughing I had to decide what to do next. I considered just turning off the light and quietly retreating to leave them to it but the thought of duck bits all over the kitchen wouldn’t have gone down to well so I had to intervene.

I grabbed George and put him into the utility room next to the kitchen. I looked for the mouse but while dealing with the cat little Mickey had taken his leave behind the fridge. This left the duck. By this time it had jumped onto the draining board. In a moment of inspiration I lent across it and opened the kitchen window and the Duck took this opportunity and dived through the opening and dropped out of sight.

The next thing I see is the duck legging it up the garden desperately trying to reach take off velocity with George on its tail like a Cheeter chasing a gazelle, the cunning git had been sitting under the window waiting. I couldn’t see the outcome as they disappeared into the gloom.

I've no idea how the cat got the duck through the cat flap intact; maybe they were just three friends having a little kitchen party.

Thanks for the memories George, you're sorely missed.
( archie Bubba, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:18, Reply)

Shaved pussy
There's a cat who lives near me which is longhaired. Due, presumably, to his owner not grooming him properly, his fur gets badly matted.

One day I opened my curtains to see said cat prowling around the garden, with very little fur on. Yup, he'd been to see the vet, who had shaved almost all his fur off to remove the matted bits.

So I got a good view of shaved pussy first thing in the morning. Unfortunately it was of the feline variety, and not in my bed.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:18, Reply)

My cat Leonard
He's got to be in with a shout of being the best cat ever.

Shortly after moving into our house in 2000, Ex-Mrs PJM and I decided to get a couple of cats so off we went to the local cat rescue. I clocked Leonard fairly early on as he was sat there in the middle of a pack of cats just watching me. Some cats would hiss and spit, others just hurled themselves at you but he cooly sat there biding his time, never taking his eyes off me. He was a common or garden British shorthair with very fine blue/grey fur and the sort of demeanour best described as unflappable. Indeed he was as chilled out as a cat could be without either being aloof or comatose. As soon as my attention was diverted, he sauntered over to me and greeted me cooly and from that moment I knew I had been adopted, he was coming home with me. Ex-Mrs PJM chose this bedraggled bundle of black fluff which she named Jasmine. Without much further ado, both cats were in cat carriers and homeward bound.

Both cats were very different characters. Jasmine started to eat like a cat possessed and just grew, becoming a massive bundle of affectionate fluff in no time. She also suffered from an unfortunate flatulence issue which made her stink to high heaven, never has a name been so ironic.

Leonard meanwhile quickly began to reveal his persona. The whole laid back thing was a bit of a ruse to cover up the fact that he was a devious and clever little feline. First night we brought our cats home from the cat rescue, we shut the cats in the kitchen for the night. I was woken at 2am by the unmistakeable sound of purring in my ear and was immediately blamed by ex-Mrs PJM for letting the cats out. This happened at least three times during the night before we figured what was going on.

Yep, Leonard knew how to open doors.

This habit had many drawbacks, worst of which was the day I got home early from work and engaged in some sofa based sexytime with the then missus. Rather annoyed that no-one was on hand to let him out, Len indignantly decided to open the front door and head out that way instead, which treated the entire street to a view of my pale arse rocking like a fiddlers elbow. Bastard. Whenever we went out, we had to make sure doors were locked so they couldn't be opened from the inside. Neighbours thought we were nuts.

However despite these occasional acts of mischief, he was extremely affectionate, he'd follow me around the place like a dog and had his favorites amongst my friends, one of whom he'd greet at the door and not let out of his sight until my friend went home covered in cat fur. Being incredibly inqusitive, he loved people and indeed other cats, dogs and all sorts of passing fauna with equal devotion.

He befriended a neighbour's German Shepherd dog who used to jump over the fence into our garden which never fazed Leonard one bit, he'd just wander up and say hello. He'd also bring home random feline friends too, much to my amusement. In all the time I had him, he never raised a claw in anger, despite having to be bathed more than once on account of coming home covered in something unsavoury. He even seemed to enjoy his visits to the vet, despite being jabbed with a needle, he'd turn round and start purring at the vet, only to jump up, open the waiting room door and attempt to escape when the vet's back was turned.

The little fella would spend hours studying you, watching what you were doing if it was of any potential interest to him. Rather than let the cats out of the back door every time, I'd open the kitchen window and let them figure it out. However it wasn't long before I found him trying to paw open the handles on the windows when he wanted to go out and the door was locked.

One particular act of feline genius stands out. I returned from work to find him lying on the floor, drooling like a mong with his tongue hanging out, surrounded by green herbs and the remnants of a plastic bag.

"Honey, why is Len stoned?" I asked

We'd been giving him catnip for a while and kept a large bag of it in a drawer in the spare room which was always kept with the door shut. Len had figured this out and waited until we were both at work before hatching a plan and managing to break into a spare bedroom, climbing onto the chest of drawers, opening one and finally retrieving a bag of strong cat narcotics.

The little dope fiend was properly mullah'd for the next 24 hours before falling victim to a major case of the munchies.

There really wasn't a nasty bone in his body. Some cats catch and kill stuff, but not Len. Oh no. The only gifts he brought back in the house for me were frogs, which were physically undamaged but often understandably traumatised. He'd sit at the doorstep making a strained meow noise until I opened the door to see him sat triumphantly holding a frog in his mouth as if to say "Daddy! Guess what I've got for you?". I'd then take froggy and release it (again, totally unharmed) into the garden. Five minutes later Len would appear with the frog as if to say "Daddy, you carelessly lost your froggy, but it's okay, I've brought him back for you".

Being such a gentle soul, he'd insist on sleeping on my bed (and would expand in such a way as to seemingly cover an entire double bed in cat). If it was cold, I'd wake up to find him under the duvet suggled up with his back to me and without fail at 07:30 he'd wake me up with a subtle touch of his paw on my cheek. Actually, he used to do the latter in the middle of the night if he was bored and wanted a fuss. Bless.

When I briefly lodged with my builder mate Phil, Len was part of the deal and quickly befriended Phil's feline-phobic Springer Spaniel. I recall one Guy Fawkes night when the Springer, utterly terrified of loud noises, guns and bangs as befitting a carefully bred gun dog was curled in my lap shaking with fear. Upon seeing this, Len decides he's going to curl up on top of both of us and comfort the terrified hound. He never left the dog's side all night.

His most popular party trick was that he could be taught and trained like a dog. Guests were incredulous that we had a cat who would not only sit on command but would beg and also High Five me when requested (and bribed with a treat).

All in all, he was a damn fine cat but sadly he was run over three years ago. I'm not ashamed to admit that in all my life, including one divorce and numerous nasty relationship endings I've never cried so much as I did that day. Len was a cat in a million and remains much missed.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:13, Reply)

whiskers
Our old cat was pretty useless, as far as felines go.

He was fat, deaf, lazy and a bit of a pussy (har), unlike to his mum, who was smart, agile and generally a bit of a devil.

Both cats liked to sit around the table near the hob whenever anything was cooking, and the smart cat managed to nab a cooking stake on more than one occasion. The thick cat only ever managed to burn his whiskers, which resulted in him being even more dazed than usual for the next few weeks.

We still loved him though.
(destrasinistra, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:05, Reply)

my cat
was an undersized runt-of-the-litter, so to survive kittenhood it'd become vicious in ways that only an SS officer could understand.

the arbitrary nature of the violence this cat could dish out was almost as shocking as the violence itself - our postman had to cut short his round to get his hand bandaged, so bad was the damage he received for tickling said cat's ears. she also put a healthy young and strong border collie to flight by flying at its head, claws out.

she'd wander off for weeks at a time, come back fatter than she left after living off the land at the abandoned clay pits. once she came back somewhat later than normal, limping badly - she'd chewed off part of her foot to escape a trap.

i've never encountered an animal quite as hard since - the trap incident softened her a bit and she never left our street again. most of the neighbours cats did within a few weeks though - they knew when they were beaten.
(court escaper, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:03, Reply)

..
I used to be really scared of dogs (y'know, the whole biting/smelling fear bit)and remember being chased by a deranged little shit flick of a dog.

6 years later and i can now lovingly slap my pet rottweiler in the face without so much as a growl.



Not really a story though...
(Snailfighter Mk VIII MASTER of the bits underneath the ledges on fences, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 10:01, Reply)

Siamese cats are supposed to be clever...not mad
I have 2 siamese cats, and whilst they have calmed down a bit these days, as kittens...

a) they both stole from the neighbours - socks, rubber gloves, a toy duck, envelopes and more would all appear in our lounge (sadly no wallets)

b) one got stuck up a tree and we had to call the fire brigade...no, not because we needed a ladder, but because we needed them to use their hydraulic pincers to prise two branches apart, to release the trapped cat from a fork in the tree

c) they regularly ate anything rubber they found (elastic bands, old balloons) and would then sick it up in our house...which is why we have wooden floors not carpets

d) both refused to drink from the cat bowl. one would use next-door's pond, the other would mew loudly until you put a fresh, full glass of water on the kitchen worktop

aww, we do love em.
(BourbonBiscuits, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:59, Reply)

CAT ATTACK!
I used to keep pet hamsters. One of them was called Pyro. He died in a house fire.
How we laughed.
( baldmonkey a frothy foul-smelling vaginal discharge, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:53, Reply)

I LOVE PUSSY
there, that got your attention didn't it you dirty lot?

When I was a wee nipper, around the age of 3, I used to take great delight in tormenting our ginger and white cat, Sammy.

Now, Sammy was ace, and would spend hours curled up on my lap in later years, in fact, he lasted until I was sixteen, but he didn't have it easy with Unstabledantoddler!

I used to race him to his bowl in a morning, and if I won, well, I ate his food. He was a cat, to be fair, he should have been able to outpace a crawling toddler!

Sometimes, if I wasn't hungry, I would get to his bowl, and bat it between my hands across the floor, causing him to do a funky kind of bobbing head dance to try and eat.

The finest moment of cat tortury though, was my 4th christmas, when I covertly placed Sammy in the fridge, on the shelf underneath the foil covered xmas turkey.
He went apeshit trying to get it/trying to escape.
Unstablemum damn near shit herself when she went in the fridge and chilled moggy came hurtling out past her face.
Oh how I laughed, and got bollocked.
Sammy knew it was all in jest though, and we had many great times together over the years, and I miss him even now.
RIP Sammycat!
(UnstableDan Bah, Humbug! ooooh, humbugs, nyom!, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:49, Reply)

apologies for not being a happy story...
posted this quite a while ago, seems more appropriate in this qotw.

July 2000, just finished my exams and I received a phone call from my parents which resulted in me just sitting in the street and sobbing for an hour.

Apparently my cat Mr Blonde (who was only a year old) had gone missing for a few days - he had never been gone more than a few hours before. Anyway, apparently he returned home, meowing pathetically and with a footprint-shaped dent in his side, bloody and with maggots everywhere. Some fucker had stamped on him. And this was the sweetest cat as well - his brother, Begbie, was a vicious fucker. Mr Blonde was fluffy, cuddly and playful, it could only have been done out of pure sadism.

He died literally within 5 minutes of making it home. Which meant that for 3 days he was suffering but he still needed to be home before he died.

I would be happy to go to jail for murder if I ever found out which cunt did it.
(Confused, would we? doesn't know what time it is at, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:48, Reply)

As the owner of four cats, I'm witness to lots of lunacy...
I'm convinced one of them in particular is out of his mind. He has a habit of coming up to us and meowing frantically, Lassie style, as if there's a small child stuck in a well somewhere and only we can help. For the first year, I always followed him, thinking perhaps something happened to his sister, but there's never been anything.

He also meows randomly and desperately at the walls and the corners, and tries to climb onto the ceiling from the top of the cat tree. He hasn't figured out yet that gravity works against him.

He also loves to steal my boyfriend's socks. We regularly find piles of them in the living room. The thing is, he doesn't hide them. He simply chews on them a bit, drags them two feet from where they already were, and goes off to find more.

We have a cat tree, with four "stories." The top one is open, and the second highest one is a tube. He makes a habit of running in circles (upside down stuck to the top of the tube section, then over the top) around the top two layers psychotically. I wish I had it on tape.

I took in this cat and his sister when they were about 6 months old, from my brother who couldn't keep them, and when I ask him about the cat's strange behavior, his only excuse is that they "grew up in the ceiling."

This is the wee lunatic helping me with my homework:


(RDT <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <>< <><, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:47, Reply)

My pets
Thomas is quite a character, he is the ginger tom I have at the moment and features as FezCat in my profile. We got him 2 years ago and I have never known an animal to cause so much stress.

The day after we got him it was my sons 1st birthday party and he managed to get out of the room and attack loads of the kids. Then early last year we were all sat eating dinner and we could hear a huge group of Magpies cackling outside, I went to the patio door and I can only describe what I saw as a scene from a hitchcock film. About 20 Magpies all staring in the corner of my garden so I openend the door to investigate and the cat came running towards me with not one but TWO magpies in his mouth and he was planning on dumping them in the kitchen for his tea. I quickly shut the door but the cat couldn't see for the flapping black and white thing in his mouth and he crashed into the glass.

Slightly dazed the two magpies managed to escape and the rest saw this as their moment of attack. Mr Sp@m and I had to dart out side to rescue our cat from an onslaught of magpies, we did and he was ok.

More recently in October he walked in the house with a limp, he was refusing to put his pack paw down, so off to the vets it was and his leg wasn't far off needing amputating. He had not only disclocated a joint but it the socket had a huge crack in it too, so it could'nt just be popped back into place.

He spent 3 days at the vets and when he came home he had to live in a cage for 6 months so he wouldn't jump. He has only recently been allowed outside again, and I can't think how I coped having him in Miaowing - but at least he is 100% now. (although the best decision I ever made was to take out pet insurance on him, it would have cost £1500 otherwise).

My other pet was trixie, *cries* I got her when I was 8 and she was a black cross Labrador/border collie, trixie liked muck. She would run outside and find the first pile of horse shit she could and roll around in it - this didn't bother me much compared to the time when a roadkill hedgehog was her choice of rolling material. She came home covered head to tail in hedgehog blood and guts, I had to let my mum and dad sort her out that time, as I was too busy throwing up in the loo.

The final pet I will tell you about was mates hamster, she was playing with it on the stairs when her twin sister ran down then and stood on it squashing it - that wasn't nice either, as you can imagine it was pretty either.

Length?
6 months and £1500
( Mrs.Sp@m, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:46, Reply)

Next Door's Alsatian
We once had a little sweet kitten called Push. (actually, he was an ex-stray and hard as nails, he died attempting to rape a car.) My parents moved into my house and brought Push with them. After a few days my next door neighbour came and asked me if I could do him a favour. "Yeah Sure Len, what is it?" I replied.
"Could you let me know when you're going to let your cat out?" he asked. It's just that my dog's scared of it.

It transpired that his rock hard Alsatian called Tina (actually as soft as a pussy cat) had seen a new ginna in the neighbourhood and gone up to have a sniff and say hello. Push had taken exception to this and scratched Tina a few times. Every time Tina was let out she now cowered in the doorway wimpering in fear.

For the next six months we had to keep the cat in to allow the dog to have a poo.
( Occulus Swallowed, instead of spat, on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:44, Reply)

My girlfriends cats
They're cheeky little sods. You sit down for a nice meal (and her mother cooks some fantastic meals), take a forkful of food, stop for a moment to reply in conversation.... and a furry paw appears and pulls the fork towards the cat, who then eats your lovingly crafted meal. Or the same paw will come out, and pinch a choice piece of meat.

We had to take action. On piece of meat, was laced with all we could find - chilli powder, tabasco, black pepper - you name it, we put it on the meat. It was then tantalisingly placed on the edge of my plate, ready for a cat to try and steal it. Pretty soon, we saw the fur clad burglers paw appear, hook the meat, where it disappeared under the table... and we heard an almight screech, which we took to be cat for "OH MY FUCKING GOD, MY FUCKING TONGUE FEELS LIKE SOMEONEBODY HAS SET IT ON FIRE AND IS THEN BEATING IT WITH A RUSTY ELECTRIFIED CHAIN", or something to that effect. I have never seen a cat try to claw it's own tongue out before, but that one has never triedto take anything off the plate again.

One down, 6 to go...




Length? The cat thought it went on too long
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:40, Reply)

Cats - nice but vicious
When I was a lad we had a very friendly cat. Well, very friendly to humans. She hated, and would attack, almost every animal which came near. Other cats, mice, rabbits, birds, even big dogs. She even spat at a horse once.

We once came home from a week's holiday to find a very smug cat and three dead rabbits in the garage, where she'd stowed them for us, having dragged them through a hole in the door.

(She was also being fed regularly by a neighbour, so it's not like we were cruel and let her fend for herself!)

Dead rabbits in a confined space in summertime are not pleasant.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:32, Reply)

gay dog.
One drunken evening whilst at home sat on the sofa, my girlfriend was pleasuring me with some 'oral relief'.
After a few minutes, my dog, a usually quiet border collie named Todd, wandered up to us and calmly took a big long lick of my shaft, and then walked off.

Clearly the moment was lost, and subsequently I felt the need to shower.

So, there you have it - I was sexually assaulted my own dog.


After confiding in my friends with this story, they consequently labelled me with the nickname 'Bonio'.

twats.
(nappy rash, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:31, Reply)

Mental dog
Used to have a dog that loved to shag pretty girls legs, not unusual-but it was a female dog!!

Had the hip pumping action perfect.

Shame it wasn't a better ice breaker with the ladies she did it to!!
(Dr Alan Statham, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:28, Reply)

Buster
I have a half sister, so she has a different dad to me. Once her dad and family went on a holiday and had to find someone to look after their dog.

I voluteered to look after the small black fur ball... problem was this dog was a purely indoor dog... i didnt like that. I would walk it down to the park every day and it would just stop and sit down halfway there. I would have to pick the stupid thing up and carry it to the park where I would throw a tennis ball for it.. and then have to go grab the bloody ball because it didnt want to go fetch it

By the end of the month though, i fixed the dog
( faultykyle, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:25, Reply)

Gerbil
Is that the same story that involves a gerbil and a hospital visit?

**ew**
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:24, Reply)

Gerbils
There was the time one got stuck in a cardboard tube... My mother spent 3 hours giving it mouth to mouth down the tube when the poor little bugger stopped breathing, in the end he had to be greased up and slowly pulled and rotated till he was free of the tube.

The same gerbil later decided my finger would make a tasty treat. It hurt, it hurt a lot, the gerbil would not let go, no matter how fast 5 year old me span around in a circle flailing my arms the gebil held on for its life!
That was until I stopped spinning and smacked said gerbil on the chest freezer as hard as I could manage... he flew off down the back of the freezer and couldnt be coaxed out for 2 hours. Never did bite me again though HA!
( M o D, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:21, Reply)