Introducing… Spartacus
And here he is.
He has paws the size of dinner plates.
Seems to miaow more than necessary.
Is built more like a medium sized dog than a cat.
Is so big and strong that when he wants you to pat him he really just head butts you out of the way.
But, he seems ok.
Getting him was the best part of the day, the rest of the day was buying cat supplies.
I don’t care who you are, buying a cat bowl is not a masculine experience.
During the day I also saw a shrill voiced kiwi woman with a hand ripped to shreds by her foster cat, a big ass dog with blood pissing out of his ear, and a gerbil that I wanted to buy and call richard.
are the cats in with the squirrels?
Obviously me and the squirrel community of South London are locked in some sort of death spiral.
But they were the only animal I had any issue with.
This may no longer be the case, as you may remember I had a trainer cat here recently taking me through the ropes.
This cat showed me that typing was not a way of making money but purely a way of entertaining the cat.
Sadly, I may not have entertained the cat enough.
One day when returning to the house I sniffed a rather shitty odour.
That odour was gas, lots and lots of gas.
It was hard to breathe in it, and I couldn’t stop coughing.
Quickly I made my way to the kitchen and found one of the hot plate knobs switched to full gas.
I may not be Vincent D’Onofrio, but the cat hair that was all around the knob made deduction pretty fucken simple.
While I was opening windows I found the cat, looking vibrant and full of life, playing with a ball in the lounge room.
Clearly this gas was not affecting him in the way it was me.
That is when I realised this was not an accident.
This fucker was out to get me, and it was no coincidence that this was his last day in the house.
But there will be another cat, and being that all cats essentially share the one consciousness, this one already knows my strengths and weaknesses.
The bastard.
Stay tuned, I won’t go out quietly
the cat house
Our house is now one where a cat lives.
This is not our cat, but a friend’s we are minding while they are away.
But from this moment on I will be living in a cat household one way or another as I have granted my royal seal of approval for my wife to get a cat.
So this is the warm up.
On the whole cat/dog issue I have always said that I have no problems with cats or dogs if they have a good personality.
And the cat we are minding, churro, has a pretty cool personality.
He either wants to play, and he can get a bit nuts at times, or he wants to just hang out on the couch.
If you could have sex with him you’d marry him.
Now I get the appeal of gayness.
Our kitten may not be as a cool as Churro, but I can only hope.
Although I could do without moving my fingers and having them scratched or bitten.
This is me trying to work (play games) and him trying to attack my hands.
Dogs; inside or outside
Recently the wife and I have been discussing one day getting a dog.
She doesn’t want a dog, like the rest of England she is obsessed with cats, so much so that I have finally caved in and decided to allow her one (and only one) kitten, but only with the proviso that I can get a dog when we get a house.
It must be said that she was not overly happy, but the cat news made her excited enough to agree.
Her only dog rule is that the dog must have a neat face. This obviously makes no sense, so i agreed to it.
Then we were discussing the everyday problems that having pets would involve, and she talked about how it might come on the couch.
I was confused, as how would the dog get inside to even get on the couch.
She said, “dogs live inside”.
And there it was, another cultural difference.
In Australia (and now I have found out Sri Lanka) dogs are outside animals, but in England, regardless of backyard space, they are inside animals.
I understand the basic difference, the temperature, but even so, why would anyone keep a dog inside?
Sure give them a warm place to sleep, the garage, an insulated kennel, or a doggy door to the laundry, but they don’t come inside, certainly not when you aren’t there.
That is madness.
Dogs are outdoor animals, they have fur, they like to chase things, they piss on trees and grass, why would they live indoors if you had the space?
A dog isn’t like a cat, they take up space, they stink a little, they like to roll in dirt, they much on their own shit and bark at the moon.
Outdoors is their place.
Even if they have a neat face.
Will the cultural differences never end?
-
Recent Comments
CeCe on It aint no raptor claw, it… Nicole on It aint no raptor claw, it… Chris on It aint no raptor claw, it… pam on It aint no raptor claw, it… Sam on It aint no raptor claw, it…
my latest book
-
My Photos
More Photos
