Life sucks ...
- Thread starter redhead
- Start date
Soary Stars
At the Start
- Joined
- Jun 7, 2011
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- 648
It's very well rendered, isn't it, Kri?
Wonder if all the details will come out ... we're not too short ourselves of supplying the gist, anyway!
Wonder if all the details will come out ... we're not too short ourselves of supplying the gist, anyway!
I love the work of cartoonists, Soary - right back from the day's of Hogarth's renderings of bloated royalty and sozzled street people, through Ronald Searle and Giles, to Scarfe and Steadman, Gary Larson's surreal stuff and so on. And not forgetting the Bamforth post cards, of course! A good cartoon can say it all. (Love Fox's hairy legs, by the way!)
Hmm, not too sure of what the whole story is, apart from the inevitable homoerotic rumourmongering, but the satirists are already picking up on the 'bring my friend along' scenarios for all sorts of situations! I imagine Foxy has thrown in the towel to avoid too much further prying, as if that'll be a dog that'll lie down any time soon...
Hmm, not too sure of what the whole story is, apart from the inevitable homoerotic rumourmongering, but the satirists are already picking up on the 'bring my friend along' scenarios for all sorts of situations! I imagine Foxy has thrown in the towel to avoid too much further prying, as if that'll be a dog that'll lie down any time soon...
What is worse than finding a dead mouse on the cat's feeding tray?
Finding half a dead mouse ...
All because I gave him fish and not chicken for his supper last night.
Obviously decided that I needed retraining.
Oh well, at least he left it on the tray where I put his dishes, rather than on the carpet.
That'll larn me. :surrender:
Finding half a dead mouse ...
All because I gave him fish and not chicken for his supper last night.
Obviously decided that I needed retraining.
Oh well, at least he left it on the tray where I put his dishes, rather than on the carpet.
That'll larn me. :surrender:
Isinglass
At the Start
Ha ha! Morpheus the long thin grey stripey thing has taken to talking. Really talking, at us. It's weird considering he was/is feral and still only very rarely allows us to touch him. But he talks, relaly gabby. He brought home a mouse recently, I was out se he located my husband in the garden and dropped it at his feet and chattered on aimlessly for sometime before taking it away and eating it, all.
He talks to us all the time, when he wants feeding, wants out or just has some gossip to pass on. It cracks us up, but bwe are beginning to understand him, which is disconcerning to say the least!
It's always so hard to know how animals measure life, pain and joy, allthose things we have so many words for. I take some comfort from having observed old or poorly animals that seem to go about life with much the same vigor they had when young/healthy.
I'm glad Dougal still brings his own dinner home - and he shows you such respect by placing it on his tray! (Lol!)
He talks to us all the time, when he wants feeding, wants out or just has some gossip to pass on. It cracks us up, but bwe are beginning to understand him, which is disconcerning to say the least!
It's always so hard to know how animals measure life, pain and joy, allthose things we have so many words for. I take some comfort from having observed old or poorly animals that seem to go about life with much the same vigor they had when young/healthy.
I'm glad Dougal still brings his own dinner home - and he shows you such respect by placing it on his tray! (Lol!)
It's lovely when they chirrup away, isn't it?
When my mum had her cat Maxine, we used to get into a 3-way conversation. Anyone outside it would really have thought we were bonkers.
Max used to think she was more human than cat so used to communicate very well without chirruping. She would point with her nose and nod her head at something she wanted and various other little ways.
Bedtime was really good fun because if Mum hadn't gone by 10.00 the cat would come and get her!
First the door would be flung open and Max would stand in what I could only describe as "gunslinger" mode. She would then look long and hard at Mum as if to say: "Are you coming to bed at all tonight?"
I couldn't resist it, her actions and meanings were so clear, so I would actually verbalise them and ask Mum the question/s. The mad thing was that Mum would reply to the cat!
When my mum had her cat Maxine, we used to get into a 3-way conversation. Anyone outside it would really have thought we were bonkers.
Max used to think she was more human than cat so used to communicate very well without chirruping. She would point with her nose and nod her head at something she wanted and various other little ways.
Bedtime was really good fun because if Mum hadn't gone by 10.00 the cat would come and get her!
First the door would be flung open and Max would stand in what I could only describe as "gunslinger" mode. She would then look long and hard at Mum as if to say: "Are you coming to bed at all tonight?"
I couldn't resist it, her actions and meanings were so clear, so I would actually verbalise them and ask Mum the question/s. The mad thing was that Mum would reply to the cat!
Red: do you have (surely!) a copy of TS Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, on which the musical Cats was based? If not, you must get one, secondhand, as all the nuances of the cats you describe are there - Max is clearly the Rum-Tum-Tugger!
Isinglass
At the Start
Love the bedtime routine - so funny. 
I read to all of the wild/half wild cats we take in and it is TS Eliot's fab book I read to them. Each cat has had a fav amongst the poems. My fav stray, the late great Bags, loved The Addressing Of Cats and would purr when I read it to him.
Minnie our current Mrs Black loves Growltiger, think she fancies him a bit.
Sadly today I am in mega fret mode. The large grey stripey thing did not come home last night, nor today. He has not been away this long before.
There is tree cutting and many loud noises going on and the school behind us are away so I am hoping he turns up later for dinner and has just been sleeping it off at the closed school. I've done all the usual checking for road accident, shut in sheds etc and no one has seen him, except that the stable yard think they saw him joining their cats for a late meal last night. Hope so. Trouble is nothing we can do now but wait and hope.
I read to all of the wild/half wild cats we take in and it is TS Eliot's fab book I read to them. Each cat has had a fav amongst the poems. My fav stray, the late great Bags, loved The Addressing Of Cats and would purr when I read it to him.
Minnie our current Mrs Black loves Growltiger, think she fancies him a bit.
Sadly today I am in mega fret mode. The large grey stripey thing did not come home last night, nor today. He has not been away this long before.
There is tree cutting and many loud noises going on and the school behind us are away so I am hoping he turns up later for dinner and has just been sleeping it off at the closed school. I've done all the usual checking for road accident, shut in sheds etc and no one has seen him, except that the stable yard think they saw him joining their cats for a late meal last night. Hope so. Trouble is nothing we can do now but wait and hope.Hope you sight him soon, Isi. He may have gone mousing and be stuffed with little miceys right now, especially if he was scared off by all the racket. I'm sure he'll come wandering back, expecting a rapturous welcome, once he's down to his last slug or moth!
Isinglass
At the Start
I knew something was wrong when Morpheus did not come home Saturday morning, it was so unlike him. He was always up for breakfast.
We found out from the village shop Sunday morning that our neighbour Albi, who owns an eventing yard to the side and behind us had found his body just laying there on Saturday when clearing away leaves in the large garden of a mansion house he rents out.
We will never know what happened of course but we think that because of roofing works and tree cutting machinery in the village Morphy had been walking along the side of the road that runs from our cottage to get to Albi's yard where he hunted mice. Normally he crossed through the gardens and did not need to use a road but he hated loud noises and lots of people so he avoided his normal route through the church where the trees were being cut. We think he must have been hit shortly after we last saw him, late Friday afternoon as we left the house to go shopping. He hopped out of his cat flap, scratched his large deadly claws on a cat scratch stick he used by 'his' garden chair, and he looked over his shoulder at us and was off, tail held jauntily high. Whether he was hit going to Albi's or trying to come back we will not know. He probably was hit and carried on running, through the hedges, into the garden he loved so much where the mice lived in fear of him. It's a beautiful wood like place and he played there day and night. Sometimes when he stayed out late I would take a torch and look through the iron railings of the property to see him blinking at me. He would meow indignantly, as if to say I was ruining his wild image spying on him while he was being a wild and crazy guy. Then he would take the back route and by the time I was home he would be in the kitchen looking at me with his large green eyes.
I am so grateful that Albi kept his body and made an effort to find his owner. His act of kindness has given us some peace. Otherwise I would never have known where Morphy was. He is now buried in the garden, just by his seat, his scratch post and our back door.
I'm just angry that life is sometimes such a bitch. He was a young cat and had only just figured out how great life could be after having been born outside, hungry and scared. This is just one of those stupid mistakes that happens, if only the roofing and the tree surgeouns had not been there, if only I'd kept him in when I went out. If only that car had not been there the same time as he was.
I will never have another cat quite like him. It was a learning experience sharing our home with a wild creature who allowed us to love him and occasionally, but only occasionally showed that he was fond of us. He was a very happy cat and I just have to think that his all too short life was at least a good one.
It's a strange feeling as I chose this cottage due to him, it has so much wild lands behind it. It will seem far less bright here without his cheeky stripey face peaking out of the hedges at us.
We found out from the village shop Sunday morning that our neighbour Albi, who owns an eventing yard to the side and behind us had found his body just laying there on Saturday when clearing away leaves in the large garden of a mansion house he rents out.
We will never know what happened of course but we think that because of roofing works and tree cutting machinery in the village Morphy had been walking along the side of the road that runs from our cottage to get to Albi's yard where he hunted mice. Normally he crossed through the gardens and did not need to use a road but he hated loud noises and lots of people so he avoided his normal route through the church where the trees were being cut. We think he must have been hit shortly after we last saw him, late Friday afternoon as we left the house to go shopping. He hopped out of his cat flap, scratched his large deadly claws on a cat scratch stick he used by 'his' garden chair, and he looked over his shoulder at us and was off, tail held jauntily high. Whether he was hit going to Albi's or trying to come back we will not know. He probably was hit and carried on running, through the hedges, into the garden he loved so much where the mice lived in fear of him. It's a beautiful wood like place and he played there day and night. Sometimes when he stayed out late I would take a torch and look through the iron railings of the property to see him blinking at me. He would meow indignantly, as if to say I was ruining his wild image spying on him while he was being a wild and crazy guy. Then he would take the back route and by the time I was home he would be in the kitchen looking at me with his large green eyes.
I am so grateful that Albi kept his body and made an effort to find his owner. His act of kindness has given us some peace. Otherwise I would never have known where Morphy was. He is now buried in the garden, just by his seat, his scratch post and our back door.
I'm just angry that life is sometimes such a bitch. He was a young cat and had only just figured out how great life could be after having been born outside, hungry and scared. This is just one of those stupid mistakes that happens, if only the roofing and the tree surgeouns had not been there, if only I'd kept him in when I went out. If only that car had not been there the same time as he was.
I will never have another cat quite like him. It was a learning experience sharing our home with a wild creature who allowed us to love him and occasionally, but only occasionally showed that he was fond of us. He was a very happy cat and I just have to think that his all too short life was at least a good one.
It's a strange feeling as I chose this cottage due to him, it has so much wild lands behind it. It will seem far less bright here without his cheeky stripey face peaking out of the hedges at us.
Colin Phillips
At the Start
Very sorry to hear that, m'dear.
Having had the same experience after caring for a feral kitten who made it to a brief adulthood, Isi, I can only say how I completely sympathise with you. Rest assured, the little fellow had a very good, if too short, life. Sadly, cats and roads are not a good mix, however careful or speedy they try to be, and with the darkened afternoons it's not at all easy for drivers to spot them quickly enough. (Assuming he did get hit, of course.)
trudij
Senior Jockey
How sad, RIP Morphy
Isinglass
At the Start
Thank you everyone, your thoughts much appreciated.
Oh, Isi! I'm gutted for you. Just as he was beginning to relax and trust you.
The only consolation I can give is that you gave him a warm, secure, loving home to return to when being a "wild thing" got a bit too much. Please comfort yourself with the thought that, but for you, he may have died much younger of cold, starvation or disease. (Morbid, I know, but sadly too true for so many.)
May I make an attempt to cheer everyone?
The Doog has learned to play ....
... tennis!
So funny to watch. He hooks the larger of his two pinecones into the air with a claw, then bats it across the room with the same paw. He has quite a strong serve!
This happens a couple of times and then he proceeds to have a mad game of kitty football after it.
Sadly, it never goes on long enough to get pictures. As soon as he spots a camera he sits and looks at it, posing!
The only consolation I can give is that you gave him a warm, secure, loving home to return to when being a "wild thing" got a bit too much. Please comfort yourself with the thought that, but for you, he may have died much younger of cold, starvation or disease. (Morbid, I know, but sadly too true for so many.)
May I make an attempt to cheer everyone?
The Doog has learned to play ....
... tennis!
So funny to watch. He hooks the larger of his two pinecones into the air with a claw, then bats it across the room with the same paw. He has quite a strong serve!
This happens a couple of times and then he proceeds to have a mad game of kitty football after it.
Sadly, it never goes on long enough to get pictures. As soon as he spots a camera he sits and looks at it, posing!
A few years ago, when I had lost Oscar and my home was catless, someone gave me a statue of the Egyptian cat goddess, Bast. I put her on the landing windowsill, where she can overlook the house and greet the rising sun, as the window faces East.
A few months later, someone else gave me a pretty bracelet (I love bracelets) made of the loveliest bright blue stones, quite fittingly called cats' eye. I was beginning to feel the lack of a cat. The house felt empty when I came home from work and I really did miss the chirrups and games that Oz and I used to share. Anyhow, I put this very pretty bracelet around the neck of the statue and said out loud: "Lady Bast, I am ready to give another cat a kind and caring home. Please send a cat who needs me."
Within a week, I had been chosen by Tilly, who belonged to my sister-in-law but had been very unhappy since the children were born (2 in 2 years) and had taken to living at the bottom of their garden. While I was having a cup of tea, I felt someone watching me, turned around and looked straight into Tilly's eyes. She came trotting up the path to me, never once taking her eyes off mine. I asked my sister-in-law to open the patio door and Tilly just trotted in, jumped onto my lap, put her front paws around my neck and rubbed my face with hers.
That was it. Tilly had spoken and a week later I took her home with me.
I firmly believe that when someone who loves cats suffers a loss, another cat will find them - when that person is ready to receive them.
Isi, I know you will grieve for your stripey grey guy, but once the pain starts to go I am sure that another cat who needs you will find you.
It is quite odd, but such things only happen when the hurt has worn off, almost as if the cats themselves give you time to recover from your grief and open your heart again.
Gosh, I've gone all mystical. Back to Earth now, the cottage pie is just beginning to catch!! (No doubt the share-out will be: cats, meat and gravy, Redhead, potato and greens - they might let me have a bit of gravy, though.)
A few months later, someone else gave me a pretty bracelet (I love bracelets) made of the loveliest bright blue stones, quite fittingly called cats' eye. I was beginning to feel the lack of a cat. The house felt empty when I came home from work and I really did miss the chirrups and games that Oz and I used to share. Anyhow, I put this very pretty bracelet around the neck of the statue and said out loud: "Lady Bast, I am ready to give another cat a kind and caring home. Please send a cat who needs me."
Within a week, I had been chosen by Tilly, who belonged to my sister-in-law but had been very unhappy since the children were born (2 in 2 years) and had taken to living at the bottom of their garden. While I was having a cup of tea, I felt someone watching me, turned around and looked straight into Tilly's eyes. She came trotting up the path to me, never once taking her eyes off mine. I asked my sister-in-law to open the patio door and Tilly just trotted in, jumped onto my lap, put her front paws around my neck and rubbed my face with hers.
That was it. Tilly had spoken and a week later I took her home with me.
I firmly believe that when someone who loves cats suffers a loss, another cat will find them - when that person is ready to receive them.
Isi, I know you will grieve for your stripey grey guy, but once the pain starts to go I am sure that another cat who needs you will find you.
It is quite odd, but such things only happen when the hurt has worn off, almost as if the cats themselves give you time to recover from your grief and open your heart again.
Gosh, I've gone all mystical. Back to Earth now, the cottage pie is just beginning to catch!! (No doubt the share-out will be: cats, meat and gravy, Redhead, potato and greens - they might let me have a bit of gravy, though.)
Isinglass
At the Start
Bless you Red, thank you for your kind comments.
I know you are right, and it is definitely better to have known the stripey one than not to have known him at all. Had we not come along I don't know what would have happened to those two wild cats, but it was looking as if they would have to be put down so we can only take comfort knowing we gave him another 5 years and a whole new kind of life.
I agree with your mystical thoughts. I'm sure cats and dogs and maybe even horses find us when the time is right. My dear old dad used to joke that animals scratched a kind of code mark on our front door to let each other know we took in waifs.
We are not going to look for another cat as our cottage is so tiny that 2 is probably enough but our village does have a lot of strays due to the farms and people dump them at the shop. (!) So no doubt it's only a matter of time before one finds us.
The 2 girls have come down with a batch of cat flu which is brought on by stress and they were quite disorientated after Morpheus went missing. They are getting better now but I think it will take them a few months to adjust.
Dougal has no end to his talents! tennis ..... really amazing.
I know you are right, and it is definitely better to have known the stripey one than not to have known him at all. Had we not come along I don't know what would have happened to those two wild cats, but it was looking as if they would have to be put down so we can only take comfort knowing we gave him another 5 years and a whole new kind of life.
I agree with your mystical thoughts. I'm sure cats and dogs and maybe even horses find us when the time is right. My dear old dad used to joke that animals scratched a kind of code mark on our front door to let each other know we took in waifs.
We are not going to look for another cat as our cottage is so tiny that 2 is probably enough but our village does have a lot of strays due to the farms and people dump them at the shop. (!) So no doubt it's only a matter of time before one finds us.
The 2 girls have come down with a batch of cat flu which is brought on by stress and they were quite disorientated after Morpheus went missing. They are getting better now but I think it will take them a few months to adjust.
Dougal has no end to his talents!
tennis ..... really amazing.Like your Dad, I think animals go by signs of a good home, only in my case it is because I have "Sucker" tattooed across my forehead, visible only to animals. :lol:
Isinglass
At the Start
:<3:
Dougal and I have just returned from his 3-weekly visit to Mary-the-Vet, which seems to have passed quite quickly and easily for the long-suffering little chap. He is always very unsettled afterwards and takes a few hours to regain his equilibrium.
While I was paying the ransom, Mary-the-Vet popped out to have a word with me. Apparently, as Dougal has been in remission for the best part of 18 months, he now only needs a shot every 4 weeks. From what she said, it seems that he might have been on 3-weekly shots for a bit longer than normal and now really should be on 4-weekly doses.
Hopefully this is good news, but I have a little niggling worry that an extra week between shots might give the lymphoma more of a foothold and a slight suspicion that the 3-weekly shots may have played a great part in Dougal's well-being.
Still, Mary is a very good and highly experienced vet, so I will trust her judgment and experience and try very hard not to worry.
In the meantime, we have Grandma visiting for the evening. She wants scrambled eggs and toast for her tea.
Toast. There's a story. :blink:
While I was paying the ransom, Mary-the-Vet popped out to have a word with me. Apparently, as Dougal has been in remission for the best part of 18 months, he now only needs a shot every 4 weeks. From what she said, it seems that he might have been on 3-weekly shots for a bit longer than normal and now really should be on 4-weekly doses.
Hopefully this is good news, but I have a little niggling worry that an extra week between shots might give the lymphoma more of a foothold and a slight suspicion that the 3-weekly shots may have played a great part in Dougal's well-being.
Still, Mary is a very good and highly experienced vet, so I will trust her judgment and experience and try very hard not to worry.
In the meantime, we have Grandma visiting for the evening. She wants scrambled eggs and toast for her tea.
Toast. There's a story. :blink:
Isinglass
At the Start
This sounds like good news. And that he must be in remission.
I know it may not last forever (although my friends dog lived a full 5 years following diagnosis and then died of old age related problems, not cancer) but at least he has been given more time than he would ever have had, and can now have a little longer between the vet visits. He's been so brave. Bless.
Oh, toast, and butter of course, or maybe marmite? .......
I know it may not last forever (although my friends dog lived a full 5 years following diagnosis and then died of old age related problems, not cancer) but at least he has been given more time than he would ever have had, and can now have a little longer between the vet visits. He's been so brave. Bless.
Oh, toast, and butter of course, or maybe marmite? .......
Toast... and Patum Peperium, or Gentleman's Relish, please. Or, in these days, it should probably be Gentleperson's Relish. Mmmm.... mind you, Wee Dougie would be onto the plate in a flash, I imagine, smelling the aroma of concentrate of anchovy? Poor Grandma, there goes the teatime treat!
He'll gladly have the Marmite and Gentleperson's Relish, but you can have the toast, ladies!
Poor little chap absolutely hates the process of toast-making. I think it must have started when Grandma was kitty-sitting while I was away for a week in April as he had always been okay before that.
My smoke detectors are very, very sensitive and have a really piercing beeep beeep. I hate it but it really terrifies poor Dougal. On the rare occasions that I have accidentally set them off, he has actually jumped out of his bed and headed for the catflap with his eyes still closed.
Although she won't admit it, Mum tends to miss the toast starting to smoke, so I think that she probably set the alarms off a couple of times while I was away as Dougal's reaction to the whole process of making toast is now one of great fear.
I thought it was a one-off when he heard the grill-pan come out and started running around the kitchen making little kitten noises. He ran back and forth to the catflap, all the time making tiny mewing noises. He was in a panic but didn't really want to go out as it was cold and he had no fur at the time, but as I proceeded to put the bread under the grill he belted out through the catflap and didn't come in until the kitchen light had gone out.
I thought no more of it, until a week or so later when the same thing happened again.
He has got so bad about it now that just opening the bread bin will make him run into the kitchen ready to flee.
I did manage to make toast very, very quietly the other day, tiptoeing around, moving everything in slow motion and with the kitchen door closed. He didn't react until he heard me actually buttering the toast and then started running around in the hall making his little panicky mewing sounds.
It's got so bad that he even freaks out if I put butter on crackers! Any sound connected with toast sends him into a panic attack.
I had toast and Marmite the other day for lunch (don't usually eat lunch) as I had been cleaning downstairs ready for Christmas. Dougal did his usual blind flight through the catflap and sat on the neighbour's path waiting until he thought it would be safe to come in. I managed to bribe him in by waving the now-empty jar of Marmite (they both recognise the jar!).
He only came in very quietly and wouldn't accept Marmite off my fingers, but had to have the jar! Luckily it was empty and ready to wash for recycling.
I think that my house is now going to be a toast-free zone. In future, toast will be a treat to be indulged in either at friends' houses or in hotels.
Poor little chap absolutely hates the process of toast-making. I think it must have started when Grandma was kitty-sitting while I was away for a week in April as he had always been okay before that.
My smoke detectors are very, very sensitive and have a really piercing beeep beeep. I hate it but it really terrifies poor Dougal. On the rare occasions that I have accidentally set them off, he has actually jumped out of his bed and headed for the catflap with his eyes still closed.
Although she won't admit it, Mum tends to miss the toast starting to smoke, so I think that she probably set the alarms off a couple of times while I was away as Dougal's reaction to the whole process of making toast is now one of great fear.
I thought it was a one-off when he heard the grill-pan come out and started running around the kitchen making little kitten noises. He ran back and forth to the catflap, all the time making tiny mewing noises. He was in a panic but didn't really want to go out as it was cold and he had no fur at the time, but as I proceeded to put the bread under the grill he belted out through the catflap and didn't come in until the kitchen light had gone out.
I thought no more of it, until a week or so later when the same thing happened again.
He has got so bad about it now that just opening the bread bin will make him run into the kitchen ready to flee.
I did manage to make toast very, very quietly the other day, tiptoeing around, moving everything in slow motion and with the kitchen door closed. He didn't react until he heard me actually buttering the toast and then started running around in the hall making his little panicky mewing sounds.
It's got so bad that he even freaks out if I put butter on crackers! Any sound connected with toast sends him into a panic attack.
I had toast and Marmite the other day for lunch (don't usually eat lunch) as I had been cleaning downstairs ready for Christmas. Dougal did his usual blind flight through the catflap and sat on the neighbour's path waiting until he thought it would be safe to come in. I managed to bribe him in by waving the now-empty jar of Marmite (they both recognise the jar!).
He only came in very quietly and wouldn't accept Marmite off my fingers, but had to have the jar! Luckily it was empty and ready to wash for recycling.
I think that my house is now going to be a toast-free zone. In future, toast will be a treat to be indulged in either at friends' houses or in hotels.