Cat (Bob) Facts

Just to let my cat Bob know that I don’t need his help with…

• Tying my shoe laces
• Sewing on buttons
• Typing a report on my laptop
• Using a computer mouse
• Rearranging pens on my desk
• Filing paperwork
• Preparing food
• Licking the butter off my toast
• Emptying out the litter tray
• Wrapping presents
• Getting things out of cupboards
• Getting food out of the fridge
• Stacking the dishwasher
• Talking on the phone
• Watching TV

In fact, anything where an inquisitive face, a playful paw or a flicking tail will probably make the task almost impossible.

Pity Bob can’t read…

For more stories see my website- www.madanimals.com.au

Challenges of Dog vs Cat Ownership/Slavery

Having just been conned (by the cat) into getting another animal, I am reminded of the differences and the challenges of both.

Bob the wonder-cat

Cats, I now recall, cannot easily be confined. Pretty much anything is within their reach - bench tops, tops of fridges, windows, curtains, cupboards. They will find ways to access food (particularly your own) that you may not have thought possible. All the ‘safeguards’ I put in place for Bruce the wonder-dog are no match for Bob the wonder-cat.

 I forgot that with Bruce (and other dogs) as long as it was out of his jumping range, I could prepare food, eat food, have a drink, open a cupboard, write on my laptop or use the phone or pretty much do anything without a furry face or paw in the way.  In fact with a cat, no task is sacred. I have had to already resort to ‘Bob-free’ zones in the house when his curiosity has reached the point of becoming more intrusive.

With Bruce, and probably dogs in general, the challenges were different.  The noise from his feet on tiles and floorboards was annoying, but at least you could tell where he was as opposed to Bob sneaking and jumping over my back onto my keyboard without warning.  Dog also bark. They bark, if they are like Bruce, at nothing in particular and usually when I was in the middle of a conversation on the phone or working on a tricky passage in one of my books.  Dogs can be contained inside or outside as long as they are not escapologists.  A friend of mine has been cursed with three dogs that can escape under fences, through doors and even between the most impossibly small gaps in gates. Bruce, fortunately, was too lazy to want to escape; he knew that there was a steady supply of food and warm places to sloth at my house to ever be inclined to run away.

                Dogs seem also to have less delicate sensibilities than a cat; cats would not, as a rule, relish getting wet or muddy or rolling in putridly evil smelling substances.  Felines would, however, enjoy sharing with the family the bloodied corpses of their latest killing spree and, if possible, to spread them in a thin and even layer across your best piece of furniture or expensive rug for the greatest effect.

                Both cats and dogs have a knack of finding the most inappropriate, least washable surfaces when leaving a deposit of disgusting substance that can severely challenge the tolerance, the stomach and the housekeeping skills of their owners/slaves. And why is it that these ‘deposits’ have to be dealt with when you are just about to eat?

I will leave you with a quote from a recent face book conversation with a friend when Bob decided he wanted to use the keyboard as some sort of disco dance floor

“…see you later, danger, danger Bob has discovered the lap top!!!!

we33333333333333333333./*hg/….”

So if you are ever having a conversation with me via email, text or face book and my response seems to be indecipherable, you could be conversing with Bob and not me.

For more mad animal stories see my website – www.madanimals.com.au

Strange Eating Habits

Bruce’s ability to eat practically anything that was put near him or had fallen into his field of vision was handy on occasions. No need for a dust-buster when it came to crumbs dropping on the floor. Even spills would be slurped up if there was any possibility of nutriment.  He had a really eclectic taste; everything from spaghetti to icecream would be eaten with relish. Even coffee left unattended was prey to his ferocious appetite.  He had, in fact, very few exceptions just lettuce or uncooked mushrooms; anything resembling salad was treated with suspicion.

            I was surprised, therefore, one day at Bruce’s reaction to a crumpet. The crumpet was meant to be my breakfast. After making lunches, tidying up and doing the necessary morning tasks for Aidan and myself, the crumpet sat unattended and unbuttered on a plate until I had run out of time to eat breakfast. Bruce thought he was in with a chance as I made my way to the bin.  He wagged his tail and kept his eyes fixed on the crumpet until I relented and put the crumpet directly into his mouth.  As I finished organising our departure, Bruce trotted off outside.  A few minutes later, he returned with still with the crumpet protruding from his mouth.  He walked up, spat out the untouched crumpet at my feet and looked at me in disgust. Apparently, Bruce had his standards and a cold, unbuttered crumpet definitely did not meet these!

Another unexpected addition to his diet came more from the garden centre than the supermarket shelves.  As a puppy, Bruce tended to chew everything, from stray socks to pieces of wood; there were teeth marks on anything that stood still for long enough.   One of the surprising victims was an innocent ceramic garden gnome. It had been a present for Aidan and had sitting minding its own business on the back porch for some time before Bruce suddenly saw it as appetising. But where to start? Bruce decided at the top and somehow wedged its hat in between the decking boards to snap off the top and then ate from the top right down to leave just the feet where the garden gnome used to be.

            Sometime later, another snack from the garden shop put Bruce in the world of pain.  I had pots of herbs on the back porch that had become a favourite snack for the extensive population of snails and slugs in our backyard.  Unfortunately, I believed the advertisements about some special snail pellets that were apparently repellent to dogs and safe to use in the garden.  Not if your dog had a savage craving for all manner of disgusting things. Bruce saw the bright blue pellets I put on the plants as an ideal appetiser before dinner. As I turned around, I caught sight of Bruce out of the corner of my eye demolishing the topsoil of the pots, complete with snail pellets within seconds of me applying them. I quickly grabbed him, disposed of the rest of the pellets and ran to the phone to call the Vet. They suggested pumping salty water into him for as many times as would completely empty his stomach.  Bruce was NOT HAPPY. Having provided him with nibbles before dinner I then made him throw it all up in the most unpleasant manner and seemed to be annoyed with him to boot!

Failed Hunting Adventures

Bruce was not the only pet to have strange tastes, Eric the Monster Cat would not eat ordinary cat food, apparently he was allergic to it, but he was partial to the odd insect. He would snack on moths, mostly dead ones, and would chase spiders.  His predilection for hunting spiders was not always successful. But his success with birds was non-existent.

Eric was an exceptionally handsome cat.  He had plush short white fur that was thick and soft to touch- if you could get that close.  He became a very large cat and as time went on and the vet appointments for one crisis or another continued, it became very difficult to fit him into a normal cat cage. 

His white fur and size were a source of frustration to him.  Eric was the most incompetent hunter.  He was so white that he literally glowed in the dark.  The birds teased Eric at every opportunity.  I would watch as Eric would spot a bird on the lawn and begin to stalk it from the other side of the garden.  On a sunny day Eric was brilliant white and even with his nose to the ground, Eric trying to hide in the clover was like an elephant hiding behind a bamboo shoot.  The bird would have to be blind not to see Eric coming.  I could almost hear the bird saying, hey dopey I can see you! Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah!!!  But Eric persisted with the farce only to be absolutely astonished when the bird flew off just beyond his reach.   He would sit forlornly staring at the sky, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Eric had a strange relationship with birds, for all his unsuccessful stalking, he would sometimes sit practically next to his bowl oblivious to the birds happily snacking away on his food.  When he became aware of the audacity of the birds, he wouldn’t pounce on them or growl or hiss at them, he would just look pathetically in my direction and bleat pleadingly for me to do something about that those awful creatures stealing my food! 

Eric’s only success was in his hunting insects.  I would often find him snacking on some insect meat with a pair of moth’s wings protruding from his mouth.  In fact the only thing he was useful for was exterminating blowflies and spiders from the house. 

Apart from the spindly Dandy-long-legs variety, the area we lived in was inhabited by Huntsman spiders.  As far as I know Huntsman spiders are not poisonous. They are large, hairy, very scary looking spiders.  They can often grow to quite a size almost to the fill the palm of your hand.  I wouldn’t describe myself as an arachnophobe but I wouldn’t encourage one to sit in my hand.  To Eric, Huntsmen spiders were sport.  He would torture chewing off a leg and watch them try to scramble away, then squash the spider under a paw, to start all over again.  Aidan, at that stage, was terrified of spiders and the sight of Eric playing with a Huntsman did not fill him with joy. 

One night I saw Eric flicking a paw in the direction of a Huntsman that was reared up on its front legs inside the back door.  After about five minutes of this, I had had enough and turfed the spider and Eric outside.  A minute or two later, I went to go out the back door to see Eric with the large spider sitting on top of his head between his ears, like a bizarre black hairy head piece.  Eric knew there was something on his head but no matter which way he turned; up, down or sideways, he couldn’t get a glimpse of what he was.  The spider won its revenge. It wasn’t going to get off to be tortured again.  It was going to stay put. 

You had to admire the spider for its spunk.  How he got on top of Eric’s head, I will never know and whether he ended up as Eric’s dinner still remains a mystery.  But I will always remember Eric sitting with his spider headdress and a quizzical look on his face.
For more stories see www.madanimals.com.au

Training Disasters

With the plethora of self-help books available on dog whispering, cat training and TV shows with brilliant results in taming wild pets, you would think it simple to have a harmonious household of well-behaved pets. It has not been my experience; in fact, my attempts at obedience have been a total failure and often ended up with worse behaviour as a result.

Take Eric the Monster Cat as an example; desperate for a way to control the beast that had taken over our house, I watched every pet show and lifestyle program for solutions.  You would think with his pathological hate of water that Eric would respond well to the water pistol technique.  The principle was, as cats were adverse to water, they would cease the bad behaviours if they were squirted with a water pistol when caught in the act.  But all I ended up with was a very wet, very angry Eric doing exactly as he wanted and him adding another item to his list of reasons for taking revenge on his family.

Then there was Bruce. My first attempt of scolding him by raising my voice a few decibels above a whisper resulted in Bruce having an asthma attack for fifteen minutes. He was, luckily, better behaved than Eric, but that is not to suggest in any way that Bruce was a well-behaved, obedient dog.  In fact, I was so embarrassed by his behaviour at his first lesson at Obedience School that we have never returned for a second. 

The Obedience School experience didn’t start out well. Bruce was introduced to the whole assembly of members.  I didn’t even rate a mention.  Apparently, I was just the disobedient end of the lead.  The newcomers were herded into an enclosure and shown the basics in getting your dog to ‘sit’ and ‘come’ based on food rewards.  Some of the other members were disturbingly interested in the process – ‘control-freaks’ I thought unkindly. 

My assessment of Bruce, in comparison with the other dogs, particularly a Jack Russell pup, was that he was doing reasonably well.  He was resistant to the sitting part but with a bit of brute force and some treats, he got the idea.  He did not want to ‘stay’ in the one place or ‘heel’ when I walked with him, but I thought we could work on it.  The reason we couldn’t face going again came at the end of the lesson.

The instructor approached me. I thought it was to comment on our excellent level of achievement for our first lesson. I was brimming with self-confidence, only to have it dashed when she said in rather a serious tone, 'Do you realise that your dog has just relieved himself on your leg?' We my leg had been feeling slightly warm and moist, 'That's the second time during the lesson', she went on, ' that's very bad!' That was it! I couldn’t possibly show my face again at the Obedience School, having unknowingly allowed Bruce to disgrace himself and tarnish not only my reputation as a potential dog trainer, but my pants at the same time.

So from my experience, I’m not sure if you started with a crazy pet whether it is possible to train them into a sensible one. I also have a problem with programs that have pets literally jumping through hoops. But, I guess if I am honest, I would prefer a dog or cat with personality (albeit mad) than an animal is so trained (and restrained) that can defecate on cue.

 For more stories see my website – www.madanimals.com.au

Cats vs Dogs

There has been the age-old debate about whether cats are better than dogs and vice versa. Similar in Australia to the ‘Holdens verses Fords’ debate in relation to cars, apparently you have to have a preference and be prepared to test your loyalty in any argument.

My problem is that I don’t have a preference. I love cats just as much as dogs and, in the final analysis, both have caused me problems with their madness. I can’t say that one has been better, some individuals have been slightly less crazy but I am only talking about degrees and not major increments in liveability.

Which leads me back to my current dilemma about obtaining another pet…What sort of pet would give me less trouble?

Okay on the plus side cats are more portable, can be cuddly, are independent but on the negative side, they cannot be confined to the floor area and, in the case of Eric, can perch on the top of bookshelves and do gravity experiments with fragile ornaments or, in the case of Zappy, find any food left in a seemingly impenetrable cupboards. Dogs can happily stay outside and, with fortress type boundaries, not wander away. They can provide ‘dustbuster’ type efficiency when cleaning accidental spills off the floor but on the negative side, their noise level is twice that of a cat particularly when you add whinging, sooking, snoring, clicky clacky toe nails on floorboards and protecting their household with frantic and persistent barking episodes.

So I sit for hours flicking from Cat Adoption to Dog Adoption on the rescue animal websites and still have no decision and no new pet…

For more mad animal stories visit www.madnimals.com.au

Why I hesitate to get another cat = Zappy

If you are wondering why it is that I would not rush to get another furry friendly friend, ie. a cat then if Eric was not enough, then there was Zappy…He had many weird and wonderful ways, some of which resulted in a bite on the ankle for me, the others were unpleasant and then there were the baffling ones that had me scratching my head.

One of these bizarre behaviours he developed over this time was his interest in moccasins.  Not to put too strong a point on it but it really was a quite unnatural, dare I say, unhealthy interest in moccasins; the smellier the better.  Freshly removed and warm were perfection.  For those who are not familiar with intricacies of the Australian moccasin, they are fashioned out of sheepskin, the woolly surface on the inside of the shoe. 

A pungent freshly removed moccasin was like a magnet to Zappy; once vacated it was siren to him from the furthest corner of the house.  He would slink up to it to slowly savour it’s aroma like a fine wine.  Circling the chosen moccasin, he would start to rub his face around its warm inviting rim.  Moving from his head, Zappy would then cover his whole body with the scent with a back rubbing motion similar to a beach goer drying his back with a towel, except slower and dare I say, a more erotic movement.

But that was never enough.  When the temptation became too great, the ultimate experience was to thrust his head fully into the moccasin and completely immerse his senses in its perfume.  After some moments he would emerge, slightly intoxicated and very embarrassed by his abandonment of common sense and decency.  Recovering his dignity, he would snap out of his stupor and walk swiftly away from the source of the problem, to take up concerted grooming elsewhere.

For more Mad animal stories visit www.madanimals.com.au

Beyond Eric the Monster Cat

Eric is to blame for my current dilemma. Do I risk getting another cat? It has been years since my last disastrous experience with Eric but the pain has not diminished and the fear that another monster cat is great. Even mentioning the possibility of getting another has my best friend shaking her head. Her strategy is to supervise my potential purchases and literally ‘move me along to the next cage’ if she is concerned that my choice might turn out to be Hannibal Lecter in a cat suit.

My dream of owning a cat has always been to have a cuddly furry friend that would sit on my lap when I watched TV, that would look into my eyes adoringly and that would purr all day with satisfaction at being part of my loving family. 

What I got with Eric the Monster Cat was a cat that basically hated people, other cats, insects and birds, in fact any living creature. A cat that broke ornaments, attacked small children and chewed light fittings. A cat that preferred sitting in the fridge rather than on our laps and that would rather attack the occupants of our house than defending them from harm. He was the genuine cat from hell.

So do I try again?? Wish me luck, next weekend I will summon up my courage and bring along my friend to keep me in check and brave another cat encounter.

For more Mad Animal stories see www.madanimals.com.au

Sleeping and a dog named Bruce don’t mix

As Bruce has aged, (he’s 14 years old now) I made the mistake of bringing Bruce and his bed into my bedroom at night.  Luckily, gone are the days that he can jump up on my bed with his arthritic knees… do dogs have knees? When he had, very occasionally, slept on the bed, he would lie so close to me that I would be trapped in the smallest sliver on the edge of the bed, subjected to him snoring in my ear and keeping me at furnace temperature with his thick coat.  

Nowadays, Bruce has found new and more irritating ways to keeps me awake. For a relatively small dog (that is a Jack Russell cross Chihuahua) he has a snore that, in volume, is close to a Great Dane and, in complexity, a virtual symphony of snorts, groans, wheezes and very occasional long breathless pauses. So loud is his snoring that one day when I was on the phone with a friend and Bruce was snoring in the background, my friend enquired what sort of machinery was operating in the room. ‘Not machinery, just a small noisy dog’, was my reply.

There are also the times when Bruce takes the opportunity at bedtime to do some major grooming via licking and biting that reaches OCD proportions. After ten or fifteen minutes of continuously licking of himself and the interior of his bed I am at screaming point and the likelihood of a relaxing drifting into sleep is destroyed. Should I wake during the night and switch on the light, Bruce decides that more licking is required and my loud and persistent requests for cessation of his licking are met with hurt looks and sly licks until he finally falls back to sleep.

Then there are the middle of the night sessions when Bruce takes a meander around the house, opening the door to the bedroom and strolling along the hallway with his clicky-clacky toenails on tiles and then rubbing his face in the carpet with accompanying snorting and snuffling noises a kin to an elephant seal attracting a mate. Having woken me up with all the racket, his excursion has the double sleep-disturbing effect of opening the bedroom door to the morning light falling directly on my face at the crack of dawn.

The latest in his armoury of ways to keep me awake is one of the most unpleasant. Fortunately it is not all that common but it is particularly difficult to resolve. Most recently, I heard a faint noise that woke me. I lay in the dark trying to determine if it was a creak in the floorboards or a shifting on the house on its foundations or a possums toe nails on the roof tiles. Having heightened my sense of hearing, the other senses were awake too. And it was the sense of smell that was assaulted by the foulest stench that seemed to emanate from a hairy and very guilty dog in the corner. Fans, blasting, windows and doors opening did nothing to dilute the potency of the odour. I had to adjourn to another room until it was safe to return to my room…

For more visit www.madanimals.com.au

Welcome to my new blog

 Follow me on the trials and tribulations of my mad animals:- Eric the monster cat, Zappy the zany cat and the current incumbent - Bruce the wonder dog. Todays story

Bruce the Eco terrorist

Plastic bags have a special interest for Bruce. It all started so slowly it was almost imperceptible.  There were the occasional annoying ‘accidents’, then consistently every morning I would be racing to the bin with a dripping bag and following up the trail with disinfectant and paper towels.

I started to ask myself, ‘Should I take Bruce to the Vet? Does he have a kidney complaint? Is this just a new aspect of his naughtiness?’ Before going to bed, I started to check the floor for any stray bags and move them to higher ground. Alas plastic bags of my son’s muddy soccer boots or putrid sports gear seemed to hide in far-flung corners of the house, to become victim to Bruce’s campaign.

It must have been months before I finally realised the awful truth. Bruce had become an ‘Eco-terrorist’. Cloth bags were environmentally friendly and therefore acceptable but plastic bags were the target of his ire. If they were within his reach, they received his message written in wee -‘Say No to plastic bags!’

For more mad animal adventures visit my website – www.madanimals.com.au