My entire life I have been around pets. Everyone in my family has pets.
There are only 3 that I hold really dear, but lets see what I can dredge up of the others...

Bonnie - My aunt's old dog - Used to eat anything we would feed her, and had a setee just for her.

Sooty - Sadist. Vicious as buggery with no real love in him, other than for my Mum.

Big Boy - Huge cat. Not fat, just minature-tiger-like. Soft as a cuddly toy, with the agility and speed to match. Stood at the end of the driveway and pined for Sooty when we had him put down, every day for at least a year.

Bonnie & Clyde - Hamsters. Not much to say about them, other than I left one running about in it's ball and came back to find it in Sooty's mouth.

Pip, Squeek and Wilfred - My cousin's kittens. The only survivor's of a litter, they stuck to each other like glue. Used to go over to a farm, over a mile away across fields, for free food. Didn't come back one day and so they let the farmer keep them (After making sure they were over there first).

Russian Hamsters - 54 of them. Started out with two which we were assured were the same sex. No names, because, well, by the end they were just like locust, eating us out of house and home.

Pepsi - My first 'real' animal - one that I picked out. Really loved each other, and the only cat that would go out of his way to show me affection. Used to sit on my lap and purr like mad whislt I was on the computer, and regularly slept with me, under the covers, with his head on the pillow. Put on a lot of weight, which he couldn't lose (he was very fast and agile, and we fed him dietary food, but it wouldn't come off of him). Eventually diagnosed with diabetes, and as I had seen another cat go through that I thought it was best for everyone if we put him down.

Mitsy - Dad's cat - Used to belong to the old lady to the left of his house. When she passed away the cat moved in with the family to the right of dad (Nobody arranged it, she just invited herself). eventually started living with Dad and has been there for 5 years. She's about 13-14 now, but as lively as a kitten, but with the claws of a Velocaraptor! Increbily violent when she is in a mood, but then polar opposite when she want's love/attention/food.

Max - My current dog, Border Collie/Lurcher cross - scared of everything, from fireworks, to bees, to air! Has a permanently hang-dog expression, which he uses to great effect when trying to get something. Spends more time on the setees than I do (usually because he is spread out, and I am on the floor). Barks at anything walking past the house, and has a pull on him like a tank when he sees another dog whilst out for a walk.

Edit:: Blimey, forgot about my other cousings dogs - Kizzy and Simba.
Simba is a Labrador/Staffy cross and Kizzy is a purebred Staffy, but a real runt. Typical dogs - Simba is old as the hills, and doesn't have much life left in him. Kizzy is the 'replacement' and is a bundle of energy.

And if you were wondering what a permanently-depressed-looking dog looks like:



Sorry for the huge length of the post, but if you aren't here to read then your shit out of luck!
( OneSullenBrit *air sandwiches*, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 16:06, Reply)

Clarence
Runt of the litter. A somewhat deranged dog, who liked greeting you by jumping into your bath with you if you forgot to lock the door...

3 vaguely memorable incidents:

I'm about 10 or so, walking out of the library.
*whoosh* blur of Clarence.
*whoosh* blur of Clarence
Big rabble of people running after him, yelling lots.
Turns out my idle stepfather had accidently let him out, and he'd run to the butchers and the local shops to cause havoc. I am rather proud he managed to get *over* the butcher's desk and grab something and get back... So I join the running mob? No. I mutter something about lack of discipline and walk off...

The second incident can be summarised by my brother, who was about 8 at the time:
"MUMMY! Clarence has got your pink sausage thing again!"

He also liked jumping out of our window a lot, chasing after flying insects. We lived in a 3rd storey flat.
*thud*
*whimper*
*get up*
*run round and paw on the flat door to get back in*
*does it again*

I have forgotten the third incident. I shall add more as I remember.
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 16:03, Reply)

Ready Cats
Ok, I'm tired of all the cat posts already, they're boring animals, but if you can't beat 'em and all that...
My friends had really shit parents and they threatened to drown the kittens their three legged cat had recently given birth to. being animal lovers, we all decided to kit-nap them and keep them in my parents' airing cupboard. They lasted about 3 hours and then we found them stone cold and dead. Being a bright child I suggested putting them in the oven for a short while to warm them up and perhaps spark them back to life, no such luck tho. then we had the idea to try them in the microwave. oh my god, i've never laughed so much in my entire life, watching the poor stone cold kittens turning around on the microwave plate.

similarly, we 'rescued' some baby birds from a nest and kept them in a plant pot. they lasted about 5 minutes.


*I'm now vegetarian, plus I have repented for my sins.
(venusasaboyo cot death removal man since, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 16:01, Reply)

Oh we've had pets as long as I can remember
The first ones I can remember clearly are Hyppolit and Miss Marple (shortened to Hippo and Mimi of course). Mimi got pregnant when she was one, had kittens in my bed. Hippo was one of them. i think i must haven been 4 or 5 at the time.
Anyway we sold the other kittens, had mimi spayed and hippo castrated, and the two never got on.

Length? I'd say his tail is about a foot long.

I think she always wanted to kick him out, and he being stronger always got more food.

Sadly, Mimi died last year of kidney failure, which is apparently pretty common. She was always my fav of the two, fiercely loyal to us (more than can be said about hippo) and far less annoying. In June, we noticed that she was really dirty, weeing anywhere and drinking large amounts of water. After a week or two of heartbreaking decline, she was put down. Imagine a cat not being interested in smoked salmon! She wasn't, in fact I don't think that she ate anything at all in the last two days of her life. I also made the mistake of looking into her eyes when she was dead, something that makes me well up a bit even now (destroyed me at the time).
I couldn't remember a time without her and losing her was a real shame. We think what killed her really was a long trip when we moved, she never really was the same after that.

Hippo, in contrast, is a prize bastard. He'll wake you up screaming at 4am because the food that he's got is dry, he'll dig his claws into you when you pick him up in a way that only cats can, and he has had so many cysts, fights and so on that I've lost count.

Mimi used to go hunting, and whenever she caught something he'd nick it and proudly present it to us. He mostly lives inside now though. When he wants to go out, he'll miaow, and 30 seconds later he'll want to come back in. And out. And in again!

I campained for a dog in our house, and when I was 10 we finally got a fantastic dark golden retriever. He's 9 years old and looks about 2. He can sit, lie down, play dead, bark (if you shout "WHO IS IT?!"), growl ("look'oo's there!"), stand on his feet, beg (stand like a kangaroo, using his arse for support), give the poor, hop onto things. What he cannot do is come back when called, even with the promise of treats and whatever. The smells outside are far more interesting. He's terrified of anything loud, particularly fireworks and thunder. In fact, taking him for walks around the new year is really annoying because every minute he'll try to turn around and go home as some little brat chav sets a popper off somewhere.

Ah, I love my dog! He's called Othello. But he's not black.
Length? LENGTH? It's all about the VOLUME of the cat's miaow
( morrybyte made a subtle namechange at, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:35, Reply)

I have a little furry pet

who always tries to sell me his droppings as a new kind of viagra.

I love my pet spamster.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:35, Reply)

My little Phat fishy!!!!
When I was about 10 years old I had a pet fish that I won at the fair. I named him “Phat” because he was fatter than all the other fishes and he was damn cool. This was my first (and last) ever pet and I had no idea how to care for him. After a few months or so (geriatric for a fairground goldfish) I was very happy for my little pet but the water was starting to look a bit murky so I decided to give his tank a clean...

I grabbed the fish tank with little Phat inside and took him to the bathroom where I stuck him under the tap to sort of dilute the dirty water and therefore cleanse it slowly as the dirty water overflowed and was replaced by clean water flowing in from the tap.

I was of course very careful to make sure that little Phat didn’t “go over the top” and end up in the sink but unfortunately I was not so cautious with the water temperature... It was very hot. The first I realised the magnitude of my error was when the little fishy started swimming extremely fast in tight little circles around the bottom of his tank and my hands started getting uncomfortably hot from holding the glass fish vestibule...

Needles to say that Phat died that day. I was on my own in the house as my parents were at work so I was forced to hold a little ceremony in his honour – alone, guilt ridden and angry - only a few feet from the murderous hot tap of doom to which he had succumbed. And then I had to flush him away to fishy heaven...

One of the saddest days of all time…

It was made even worse when my mum got home and found me in the bathroom with the empty fish tank and asked “Where’s your little fishy gone?”

I was too ashamed to admit that I had killed him by scalding him to death so I told my mum that I flushed him down the toilet so he could go back to his friends in the sea because he looked lonely.

My mum kicked my arse up and down the stairs for that one, all the time asking “how would you like it if I flushed you down the toilet, eh? Eh?!?”



(Sorry for lack of humour but it’s never stopped Frank Spencer!)
(aroe_m0rre, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:34, Reply)

The Mastiff
I am sure we are ALL convinced that OUR dog is the finest breed and, the best IN the breed. However, Goose (as my mastiff is called) is the smartest and most helpful dog on the planet.

3 years ago. HEAVY snow storm. Almost 3' in 1.5 days of constant snowfall. Predictably, power fails. My apartment gets VERY cold. I check outside, no firewood left for the fireplace. I rummage through my storage shed and find a reproduction British light infantry axe from the American Revolutionary War (1778 model).

I bundle up and head out the door...Goose in tow.

We walk down into a ravine and I find some smaller trees and begin to go to work on them, dropping them and then swinging them against good trees to break them off into pieces that will fit into my fireplace. Goose is barking and enjoying the entire process.

I gather an armful of recently busted logs and carry them up to the top of the ravine and place them in a pile. Goose carries one log. Drops it on the pile, then heads back into the ravine for more.

I stood and watched as he carried every single one of those logs up to the top of the ravine and carefully placed them in the pile.

We had heat! And Goose got about 20 treats and the constant adoration of his Master, as we enjoyed the warmth of the fire together.

What a day.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:32, Reply)

Fatdog and Adventure Ears, Part 2
One of the things about Jack Russells is that they're small and high-strung, which means that they tend to get cold easily. I find that it's common among owners of these mimsy little things to have them sleep under the covers at night, often curled into a miserable little ball behind your knees.

The thing is, Adventure Ears will huddle behind my knees until she gets warm- usually somewhere between 2 and 3 am- and then stretch out. And a Jack Russell paw is small and pointed.

Being awakened by being anally fisted by a Jack Russell is a lot less fun than it sounds.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:28, Reply)

My old golden retreiver Rupert (RIP)
He was the coolest dog, and livened up every house party we ever had.

He was a pedigree, and therefore entirely inbred, and therefore completely stupid, but he was the most loving, friendly animal that ever existed.

A few of his funniest foibles include:

Following you round the entire house with his own tail in his mouth, thinking it was just another one of his toys and he was bringing you a present.

Barking to be let out, and standing at the door - when you got there and opened the door he'd forgotten why he was there in the first place because he was so excited to see you again. (repeat this a few times).

His abject fear of umbrellas.

The best party trick though was the fact that if you put anything on his head, for some reason, he'd be paralysed. His eyes would move and you could see the excitement boiling up inside him, but he just wouldn't move - even if you held a biscuit just out of his range(and he was a greedy bugger)he'd just stare at it, willing every part of his body to reach out and eat it, but he just couldn't. When you finally did remove the item on his head, it was like a jack in the box with all his pent up tension bursting out in one go.

Hence we have lots of pictures of him wearing stupid glasses and hats.



RIP Rupert - the best dog ever.
( HoratioFellatio Taking the the out of psychotherapist, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:24, Reply)

i grew up on a farm
and once, in the farm buildings a feral cat made a nest and gave birth to a litter of kittens.
My mum and dad used to climb into the rafters to check on them every now and then, with the view to getting them to be tame.
until the day our dog ran up to the back door of the house, and vomited dead kittens at my mum's feet. She'd got into the nest and eaten the lot.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:21, Reply)

Fatdog and Adventure Ears, Part 1
I have a large variety of pets, and about a hundred stories on them, so I'll break this up into segments.

My girlfriend owns a Jack Russell, whose nicknames vary from Nub-tail to Mimsy to Lentil-brain, but we shall call her Adventure Ears for now. (Explanation: my sister's daughter has a great dane, and when the dog starts feeling rowdy she shakes her massive head around until her ear flips inside out, indicating that she's ready for an Adventure. If she shakes her head a lot and both her ears get inside out, she's ready to tear the house apart- so my sister has declared that no Adventure Ears are allowed in her house. As a Jack Russell tends to think that it's basically a great dane, we have the same problem.)

The other dog is mine, a rescue dog who we think is part corgi and part pekingese, and looks like a small ottoman with a nose. One of her various nicknames is Fatdog, as she's wide enough that she can (and usually does) sleep on her back with all four feet in the air.

We also have two cats- Thai is an old Siamese who's invariably laid back and snuggly, and mostly sits around looking stoned. Josephine is my cat, a long furred black beast with bright yellow-green eyes (think of your stereotypical Halloween cat and you'll be pretty much spot-on), and is Not Amused by these other animals- hence her nickname, the Big Black Hissy Thing.

There's also a rabbit and a cockateil, but we'll get to those later.

Adventure Ears is excitable, and will develop an unholy fascination with certain things- garden hoses, whoopie cushions, kitchen tongs- and will either go ballistic over them or simply stand there vibrating like an epileptic as she stares fixedly at whatever it is. Unfortunately, one of those things that she does this with is the Big Black Hissy Thing.

One afternoon I let Adventure Ears outside, as she was whining at the door, then went to the kitchen to start making dinner. What I didn't know was that at the time the Big Black Hissy Thing was in the catnip patch, and had a serious buzz going.

What Adventure Ears didn't know was that you don't fuck with the Big Black Hissy Thing when she's on catnip.

I hear a sound like someone had just dropped a puppy into a pot of boiling water, and look out the window just in time to see Adventure Ears running for her life from what appeared to be a black mass of claws and teeth, who was making a sound worthy of Linda Blair. They circled the yard three times before Adventure Ears finally ran behind my girlfriend and hid with her nub firmly between her legs.

Did that teach the little Jack Russell Terrorist anything? Of course not... but it was enough to convince Fatdog to run inside and hide behind a chair.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:14, Reply)

Cat called Sox, living with my dad on the canal boat
Moored up one evening, socks was showing off to a nearby, prospective suitor, by showing her prowess at jumping from the boat, to the bank, to the boat again and so on. Without the mog realising, the boat drifted away from the bank (only a foor or so as it was moored up), and the cat nonchalantly leaped effortlessly....into the side of the boat before sliding, gracelessly into the water. Water 1, cat 0.

Sox again. Having had kittens on the boat, and kittens being: a) very inquisitive, b) very silly, they provided hours of edge of seat amusement, as they would stroll along the narrow edge of the boat as we pootled down the canal. One kitten got a bit too cocky, and strolled right of the back of the boat, as we were racing down the canal, at maybe 4 mph. 'Oh noes!' I exclaimed, and we started to stop the boat (not an instant process with 10 tons of boat). Sox, on the other hand, knew instinctively what to do, and hurled herself into the drink, swam over to the floundering mini mog and, grasping its collar in her teeth, dragged it to safety on the bank. What an awsome cat she was.
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 15:06, Reply)

Road protestor
The folks and I going away for a few days to visit a few relatives. My older brother stayed behind (had exams) and was going to look after Lucy, the cat.

Our road was narrow enough that when cars were parked on both sides, you had to drive to the bottom end in order to turn around and come back to get onto the main road that led out of town. When Lucy saw us drive off down the bottom end, she walked out into the middle of the road, lay down and waited for us to come back up the road. A human would have been arrested for obstruction at this point. She blocked our way out like this for a few minutes, then gave up and went up to my brother's room and yelled at him like it was his fault.

RIP Lucy, the smartest animal I've ever known.
(lolwhites, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:40, Reply)

Oscar...
Not a pet story, more of an obituary to a lost friend...

Oscar was my last dog, a Springer Spaniel, now sadly departed due to a perineal hernia. It was March when i lost him, and i suspect that he's going to be one of those pets that i'll always miss.

Anyone who's had Springers will know that they are, well, mental. There's no other way to put it. These dogs are nutters, and all the better for it. Oscar was no exception. Considering he was supposedly a gun dog, he was terrified of anything remotely gun-like and loud noises. He would chase the red spot from my air pistols laser sight around for hours on end though. In fact, he wasn't just scared of noises and guns, he was scared of everything. If i came home late at night, i'd see Oscar peeping around the top of the stairs to see who it was before coming down to greet me. If a new piece of furniture showed up, or i even left a cardboard box in the garden, he'd be terrified. It was comical watching him give a harmless box a wide berth whilst growling at it...

Meeting people was when Oscar's party piece came out; smiling. My Dad had somehow trained him to smile, which he would only do when he was genuinely happy. This was usually when he met someone, or was really desperate for a treat. This, however, proved to be the limit of his mental capacity. Attempts to teach him anything beyond, sit, lie down, and smile, were met with a growl and running away. Oscar growled a lot, usually at me. Most people found this strange, as i'd get right up in his face growling at him, and him growling back, baring has teeth, the lot, but he would never bite me. Well, he would bite me nose gently after smiling at me, or growl at me if i'd been away too long as if he was telling me off.

He did have issues with my girlfriend though. He thought she was his. This lead to many more growling incidents, especially if he got into the bedroom after me and her had just spent some "quality time"...

Anyway, that's enough reminiscing. I've just paid a deposit on my next dog. Not a Springer this time, but a Chocolate Labrador. I wanted another Springer, but her indoors has always had a thing for Labs. He's currently three weeks old and only able to crawl, suck, and crap. Named Indy for now, although that may change when we get him on the 9th of July.
(Chewy , masticating since 1978., Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:37, Reply)

Pearoast
I took my dog Patch (aforementioned) to Belton Park in Lincolnshire where we had a bog standard game of fetch.

Until he "fetched" a finger with a ring on it.

*Bleugh*

We took the finger to lost property, but they wouldn't swap it for a new ball.

As far as I know, no-one claimed the finger, how could they have NOT noticed that it was missing?
(Jugular, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:37, Reply)

Here kitty kitty...
Ah yes, having a slightly retarded feline gives me plenty for this QOTW. But to eliminate the need for yet another predictable length/girth line, I'll keep it short.

Cat runs. Fridge doesn't. Cat knocks herself out on said fridge's door.

Cat decides to "catch" the peephole on the door. After jumping up and down a few times (with no success), she begins to walk away. But does she give up? No. She takes a running leap straight into the door.

And her name? Enkie. Short for NQR, Not Quite Right.

How apt.
(is0lati0n, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:28, Reply)

i live on a boat
A dutch barge to be exact, with my wife and george the cat (kitten technically - hes 8 months old and still acts like one even tho his paws/ tail are bigger than they were.)

I digress.

To this date, george has fallen overboard into the river brent four times. Im sure you have always assumed that a cats balance is one of the finest tuned things in nature. George has yet to realise this.

Bless the little thing when he comes in through the catflap in the wheelhouse, as my wife myself and our guests are taking tea, soaked to the skin and shivering - a doleful look on his fwuffy (wet) face. You'd almost think he enjoys being wrapped up and dried in microwave heated towels and tickled and cooed at.

He has also been plucked from the top of the rudder, which if you are familiar with the luxemotor design of dutch barges, means a substantial overhang to be negotiated by the would-be rescuer.
I held on to my wife's ankles as she dangled head first over the cold March waters, enabling her to grab the little scrotes collar and lob him deftly back onto the deck.

And on the subject of collars, he has a tag which says 'i am chipped' on it. Meaning that local imbeciles greet George's cheerful towpath prrps with calls of 'hello chippy!' come here chippy'

quite.
(magictorch, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:28, Reply)

Spunky
My girlfriend found an abandoned days old kitten underneath the shed when she was a girl. They coaxed it out and reared it, though it remained partially feral, coming and going as it pleased. The day came to visit the vet, and in the waiting room she realised that the kitten didn't really have a name, save for "kitten". Or so she thought. Actually her mum had registered quite a different name with the vet. So when the assistant called for "Spunky Sue" there was considerable shock and emabarassment.
(cuntstubble, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:12, Reply)

Far Too Many to Mention
So I shall summerise. No RSPCA, please.

Vinegar (hamster). Killed him when I was 5. Threw the critter into the air and he was supposed to land on the new fluffy carpet. Gravity pulled him down to a concrete slab around the fire place. I cried for 2 days.

Bubbles (my brother's Rabbit). Dad killed him, we ate him. Brother was mortified until his fluffy skin ended up on the saddle of his Boxer bike. Mum still carries his 'lucky tail' in her handbag to this very day.

Rosie (chicken). She laid us eggs and kept us amused for a bit. She was always going to end up in the oven and my Dad tried to teach me how to break it's neck (I was 10ish). I tried throttling her to death.

Norman (Rat). Was very unwell. Asked my Dad to 'put him to sleep'. I saw him come out of the garage with a shovel. I went back inside to watch TV (The Fall Guy) and waited for the 'Claaaaaaang'.

There are more, but I can feel myself slipping slowly into Hell.

RIP to all of my pets. The lucky and the not-so-lucky. (Have to say, Bubbles tasted great).
(Mozchops ... just not in the face, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:07, Reply)

RIP Bess
Bess was a mutt from a rescue home (some lurcher, some Irish wolfhound, some whatever). She was medium-sized, incredibly energetic but with a nervous disposition: in particular, presumably due to earlier mistreatment, she had a mortal fear of wobbling lampstands. Once during a thunderstorm she was so scared of the noise she jumped out of second-story window.

Anyway, she was also a wicked escape artist and loved nothing more than challenge of getting out of the house off her lead. Being all-black she'd often lurk in the shadows near the front door, then bolt past your feet as you went out. The back garden was her favourite route, though: even after we'd put fences all around she learned to climb the tree and lob herself off a branch to freedom. One time I saw her take a run-up from from the top storey of my parents' house (it has 3 floors), out through the back door and leap at the 6-foot-high fence, hook her paws over the top and scrabble over. Amazing.

She would eat anything and everything. Her particular weakness was the rotting food found in a neighbour's compost heap. But her crowning glory was when she got into the bag of dried dog food (imagine a bag half the height of a man, filled with stuff like cereal and horse pellets) and ate her way through the lot. When my mum found her, wedged face-down in the bag, she was square. She'd literally started at the top and eaten her way down.

Ultimately it was her undoing: her liver failed from eating too much that she shouldn't.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:04, Reply)

My sister was a big fan of Friends, so when we had a hamster, she called it Chandler
Until we realised that it was a girl, so we renamed it Phoebe.

We then got another hamster and named it Monica. When Phoebe got Monica pregnant, we then renamed Phoebe again: to Joey.

We then found out that Monica was pregnant when we bought her, and Joey was in fact female. In the end, when Monica had her babies and a few months had passed, we wouldn't even tell the friggin' hamsters apart.

So, we called them all Hamster.
(__, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:03, Reply)

Phantom Poo
I've got a young kitten called Charlie. He's a year old now, but this happened when he was about six months.

I'd been aware for some time that he was in the litter tray. It's a covered one (I hate the sight of poo) and he would normally sit in it with his head poking out whilst he did his business.
(does anyone else call "we know what your doing?" to their cat when there on the loo? I swear that the look on their faces makes me think they understand English)
Anyway, much scrabbling was going on inside and when he did emerge he looked a little freaked out. He ran down the hallway as if the hounds of hell were chasing him, then stopped and looked behind him before running and stopping again.
Then I noticed the trail of poo that was following him. This wasn't a poo trail on the floor, oh no. This was three little solid lumps that appeared to be chasing after him.
On closer inspection, it turned out that Charlie had swallowed one of my girlfriends hairs (they're very long). The poo was threaded onto the hair which was still stuck up his bum.
Poor little mite did howl so when I pulled it out, and have you ever seen a cat make a face like it's sucking lemons? Well, Charlie pulled that face that day...
(EvilMeister, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 14:02, Reply)

Destructokitten
Watching TV one Sunday evening, i suddenly hear an angry "GETT OUTTA IT!" from elderly neighbour, quickly followed by a loud SMASHing noise! Next thing i see is a huge black furry lump resembling the youngest of my 2 cats hurtle through my lounge, into my bedroom, and under my bed!

I go and look for her to check shes okay (she's fine but in hiding), only to then have a knock on door... It's my elderly neighbour, looking non to happy...

"yes?" i say.

"Would you like to see what your flamin has done to my greenhouse!?" comes the reply.

"Okayy..." i say, and follow him to view what Destructokitten had been up-to...

You see, Minnie (which turned out to be a quite an ironic for the now barrel gutted moggie), had found his greenhouse door open. And, as cats tend to do, begun 'investigating' the seedlings my neighbour had planted a couple of months earlier.

My neighbour spots said cat, and shouts the aforementioned "GETT OUTTA IT!" at large mass of black fur thats happily digging up his precious tiny plantlings.

Minnie, somewhat startled by the octogenarian whos now moving towards her waving a walking stick, decides to make a run for it...

Now... Most sensible felines would gracefully, but swiftly leave the way they came in. But no... Not Minnie. She choses to create her own exit, and she leave via the solid glass panel next to the door, smashing panes and sending shards of glass and plants everywhere...

Cats... cute when they're asleep...
( daveydje is hedging his hogs on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:59, Reply)

A friend of mine...
...owned a sweet but particularly stupid Alsatian/Collie mongrel called Cannie. One evening as young ne'er-do-wells, we were sat in his living room smoking suspiciously long and fragrant cigarettes whilst his folks were out.
It was someone's turn to do the honours, so our stash was passed from our host at one end of the sofa to my brother, sat at the other end. During the exchange it dropped into the lap of our host's then girlfriend (who was also particularly stupid, but that's another story). She stood up and the stash, around a 16th of an ounce of rocky, fell to the floor where said dog didn't miss her chance to bag what must surely be a tasty snack.

Dog pounced on stash - smokers pounced on dog but to no avail - dog swallowed stash. We waited. Sure enough, dog's behaviour gradually started to become more peculiar until we thought she should walk it off. Once outside Dog goes mental and f*cks off at high speed until after much chasing, the drugs and gravity eventually take their toll and she falls on her face. Deciding she's had enough we ventured back inside. Our host says the dog sat in the corner of the room for the rest of the night whimpering and staring at him with sad but menacing eyes, quote: 'as if she wanted to eat me'.

The same animal also once thought Pineapple scented hair conditioner would make a tasty treat. She spent an afternoon throwing up bubbles onto the kitchen floor.

Length? Six feet under.
(toomanydecibels has bleeding ears on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:59, Reply)

More on Tiy (Mr Backgammon below)
Tiy, my cat, was a bit of a hunter: mice, magpies and crows (sometime brought in alive, and rather cross, through the catflap), squirrels, rats, pigeons, and once, an earthworm.

This caused a few moments of stress between us:

- Came back to the house, with friends due to arrive shortly for drinks/food. The kitchen looked as though a axe murder had taken place. Actually caused by a pigeon Tiy had brought in, bitten deeply in the neck, and left to bleed copiously whilst flying laps around the kitchen.

- Like magpies, crows are quite bright, and the word got out. I always knew when Tiy was outside by the bitching from the crows/magpies. As Tiy like to wander out at about 5:30 to have a comfort break before a busy day snoozing on the sofa, it made for an early wake up call.

- Walked into kitchen one morning, slipped on water that was supposed to be in Tiy’s bowl. Curse cat, pick up bowl, find little mouse cowering underneath – it had taken cover by running through the handgrip hole in the side of the bowl..Tiy had spent an entertaining night batting the bowl around the floor trying to retrieve the mouse.

- We used to live in an end terrace house by the park. Woken at 6:00am by screaming. Cat was torturing a rat downstairs, and apparently rats can scream. The front door had little windows by it, with a wire ‘grill’ on the inside for security. The rat had climbed several feet up this. As I was naked, and knew cornered rats could jump, I retreated to acquire a pair of jeans for safety, and a pool cue for rat biffing.
I lined up the rats head for a quick kill, and struck. Little bastardo ducked, I put the pool cue through window. Rat bailed through convenient hole in glass.
Two neighbours walking their dogs in the park rushed up to see what was going on, I hid the cue, and muttered something about ‘an accident’.
Fortunate really, that they weren’t in view 30 seconds earlier, in time to see me pushing a rat through a window with a pool cue.

“Nice pad you’ve got there Mr Beatswork..”
(BeatsWork, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:56, Reply)

Sam
I miss sam, something awful. The best dog a boy could have. A cross collie, he had black fur, and a lovely gold trim.

Sam and I had many adventures. He would protect me completely and fearlessly. On the first night my parents brought me home from the hospital as a baby, he would not leave the room, and simply sat at the end of my parents bed, and waited, awake all night, apparently.

We went to Brighton one night, and stayed with my aunt. Cruella said that Sam had to sleep outside. I cried, and when cruella didnt give in, I made my parents drive all the way back to London. At 11pm at night. I was 3/4 years old.

He once attacked an alsation for barking at me. The alsation must have been twice his size. The alsation owner pulled em apart. Sam was fine, the alsation had a lovely claw mark, right across his snout.

Sam one day fell down the stairs, his back leg just missed one, and he fell, made me laugh, sam was fine.

Sam was a gentle dog, a lovely family dog. He attacked someone who came to our door. It was my friend's dad who came to pick me up. Friends Dad put his hand on my shoulder, so I could take the lead and go to the car where my friend was waiting. Sam must have thought he was attacking me, and went for him. I pulled sam off. Everyone was fine, Friends dad understood.

Sam had to be put to sleep. I'm blinking back tears just thinking about it. He had a hernia in his stomach, and it was postioned in such a away, it was blocking his intestinal passage. I watched him strain away for days. Stupid vet thought he was constipated. My dad took sam back to the vet, and made them do an x-ray to revel the hernia. They would have operated, but he would never have been the same. RIP, Sammy.
(drain_bamaged, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:55, Reply)

best cat
Our cat is a really pretty, well-mannered cat. She is a proper lady and says please and thank you and everything.

However she is scared of everything that is bigger than her, like all bullies, so picks on everything that is smaller than her. Once she chased a spider all round the sitting room till it gave up. Then she batted it from side to side with her paw, lazily, till it died. Then she tried to eat it, realised she didn't like the taste, spat it out with a BLAAAGH! noise and ran away.

Her other victims are corks out of wine bottles. She will hear the pop-gurgle-gurgle and then do big eyes at us until we surrender the cork. I find them everywhere.

She is a proper sweetie though and is always waiting for me when I get home. She follows me about the house and likes to watch me cook. She will wail like a starving orphan if I dare to have fish or meat without sharing it with her. She curls up on the duvet when I go to sleep and wakes me up every morning at breakfast time by nuzzling my cheek with her little nose. She makes little chirruping noises and will make "question" noises before jumping up onto the bed/sofa. She will hold my hand with her paw while i am watching telly (handy when it's something scary).

god I'm soppy.
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:53, Reply)

cat + frozen fish
I've always had cats, so have many stories about the little buggers.

One of my favourites is about an old cat of mine who's name was Hedley. He was a proper little scamp, always nicking stuff from the kitchen.

One day I'd got some fish out of the freezer and left it on the counter to defrost. I'd popped out the kitchen for a minute and when I came back in, there was Hedley on the counter with the fish in his gob.
When he saw me (and knowing that an almight kick up the arse was coming) he flew off the counter straight for the catflap.
Shame the little bugger didn't think to drop the fish - it was wider than the catflap. There was an almight crash as cat hit catflap, then he sat there dazed for a moment (I swear it was like looking at Wiley Coyote, I could almost see the tweety birds flying round his head), before he ran off in that way that only embarrassed cats can.

He never used the catflap after that.
(EvilMeister, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:53, Reply)

The bask of Zorro
My cat Monster is a proper toff. He sits around the house wearing my smoking cap. Thus...



And thusly...



But Monster is no ordinary dapper housecat with refined tastes in headwear. He also has a secret identity, because when he goes out into the garden he becomes "El Guapo del Muerte" - the silent and pouncing scourge of fallen leaves and long pieces of grass everywhere. It is traditional in our house, whenever he walks into a room, to cry, "Eees El Guapo come to save us!" in a dreadful Mexican peasant accent*. El Guapo's skills don't just run to saving villagers from violent banditos, mind you**. Here he is giving me a hand with a book manuscript I'm supposed to be reviewing...



What a guy.

*well, traditional in the sense that I do it all the time whilst Mrs Olembe glares at me
**albeit violent banditos which, to the untrained eye, might look a lot like fallen leaves. And pieces of grass.
( Olembe Refuses to write in this space, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:45, Reply)

Mad Pets
Condensed from : www.stevedix.de/blog/489

I could fill a book with descriptions of the mad pets we've had.

There was "Mitzy Binkle" my sister's huge psycho white rabbit that used to beat up cats. Lassie, our whippet, was an escape artist and thief par excellence, and once managed to come home triumphantly clutching, just like in the Beano, a whole string of sausages. I suffered for her thieving, taking the rap for eating, amongst other things - a whole pork pie, and all the chocolate ornaments off the christmas tree.

The classic mad pet owner, however, was my Aunt Annie. Amongst her pets (described at greater detail above), she owned a parrot that could impersonate her daughter telling my uncle to get up to go to work at the colliery - which it often did at two in the morning, and a gander and a goat, either of which was enough to see off any intruders. Together, they formed an impenetrable security shield. It was bad enough that the goat would constantly try and headbutt anyone approaching the door, irrespective of whether they were friends, family, post or milkmen, but the real problem was that the geese and the goat were working together. Whilst you were busy flailing at the geese, the goat would charge you from behind.

As a child I grew to fear Aunt Annie's back garden. Should we misbehave whilst the grown-ups were talking, we would be sent to play there. By "play" I mean "run in circles, screaming, whilst being attacked". I was in short trousers, and my knees are still covered in goosebill-shaped scars from "playing with the animals." I've had a pathological fear of wearing shorts ever since.

Length? Every second in that garden was an eternity of pain. Long enough?
( Stevedix http://www.stevedix.de/blog, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:38, Reply)