6 Comments

1. Ross says:
   April 26, 2009 at 6:42 am

   At least there’s no Chairman Miaow.
2. HSLD says:
   April 26, 2009 at 12:27 pm

   We used to be owned by a huge evil one eyed tomcat called Rooster ( Rooster J Cogburn )
   His self appointed mission in life was to kick the shit out of every other creature he came into contact with. He would have waded into a river to fight a fucking crocodile.
   He wasted a fox once.
   Cats=warriors
3. Chalcedon says:
   April 26, 2009 at 10:37 pm

   Many, many years ago when I was still living with my parents, we had a ginger tom called by dint of great wit and thought, Sandy. sandy’s dad was a bllody huge tom who beat up all other toms to woo all the Queens running feral where my father worked. We didn’t have a politburo, but there was a big black tom, known as Satan, who beat up Sandy and all other toms living locally.

   Why I shared this I don’t know. I think I need to go and lie down.
4. Nick M says:
   April 26, 2009 at 11:08 pm

   Chalcedon,

   Well it amused me. A couple of weeks ago I heard the most Godawful kerfuffle of my entire life. It sounded like someone was taking a child’s feet off with an angle-grinder. Lenin and Stalin were having a fight. No injuries were sustained but it got me out of the house. It sounded atrocious. I mean really bad.

   But heck, our cat won and drove off the bigger beast. He might only be a small neutered tom and a jellical beast but he is a feisty and proud little sod.

   He’s really called “Timmy” (not our choice - he’s an inherited cat). As he’s a “tuxedo cat” (black with a white bib and spats) and a generally mafiosi air about him I wanted to call him “Vito Furleone”. He might not pack much mass but he is extremely agile and fast and utterly vicious when he needs to be. He is the F-16 of the cat world. He seems to love us both dearly but gives the distinct impression that he would think little of eating me alive if he was bigger. You ought to try getting him into the cat box to take to the v-e-t. He’s like a fucking force of nature. And I mean tsunamis and mass extinctions and Tunguska.
5. Chalcedon says:
   April 27, 2009 at 1:09 am

   He sounds a tough, wiry hombre. I’ve got an inherited cat. The family love him. He’s a bloody huge, neutered Main Coon tom, silver tabby striped. Lovely looking animal. show cat stadard. or he was until some bastard hit him with a car. Lost for 3 days. Found dehydrated, claws full of asphalt as he dragged himself to a place to die. Broken, really shattered right leg, broken ribs and damaged vertebrae. Cost the pet insurance 10 grand to put him back together. I have the x-rays. Terrible damage. So he came to live with us to recouperate for a few months. Went back home, the idiot owners put his food up on the top of the fish tank (bear in mind the scarring of his muscles, consequent leg weakness and the stainless steel holding him together) when he jumped down, he broke the head of his tibia off. Back to animal hospital. He came to live in our much quiter house for good. He gets about well, walks Ok with a stiff right leg. I only allow him in the garden on a lead, in case he tries something cattish. He was a mighty hunter before his accident but i don’t want him trying to climb the fence or a tree. he can still jump, but he seems to be aware of his limitations. Jump on our bed, then jump onto windowledge. He’s still a beautiful looking cat though.
6. RAB says:
   April 27, 2009 at 3:51 am

   We have had several cats in our time.
   Alas they either used to get run over when we were at work, or piss off and live with some little old lady across the road (unfaithful swine!).
   So now we have a dog, much more work, but loyalty guaranteed.

   I have told this anecdote over on Samizdata before, but for those of you who missed it…

   Years ago, friends of ours in Cardiff had an un-neutered tom called Hannibal.
   Very apt, cos he was a fucker and a fighter, and very weird even for a cat.

   If times were slack and he’d beaten up on on all the other local toms, he used to pass the time by playing chicken with the traffic.

   We would watch him sitting quietly on the pavement of Newport road (a main road into Cardiff and very busy,) and wait for a lorry.

   When one appeared, he’d be off like a flash, across the road past the front wheels and out the other side before getting squashed by the back wheels.

   Then he’d sit on the other side of the road and do it over and over again!

   He also loved, and I mean loved! water!! which cats are not supposed to do.

   My friends had a big ol old fashioned sink in the kitchen (it was the 80s) with a drippy tap, and you would often find Hannibal sitting in the sink, on a pile of unwashed dishes, with the drips pinging off his head, and purring like a V8 engine.

   He would also get in the bath with you. Slide down the shallow end without the taps and lad on your chest, doing that kneeding thing they do with their paws, again purring like fury.

   Yep Hannibal was sumthin else!