Life with shit
There is a sort of truce in the air here at the Manor.
There is a palpable tension though, so I think I can sympathise with the Palestinians and Syrians. The peace is lovely but every now and then cat or the dog breaks the truce whereupon chaos abounds and one side or the other goes tearing for cover. Though so far the only blood spilled is my own, from tripping over a water dish that wasn’t there yesterday morning.
The dog is treating the cat with mild curiosity. Her experience of cats consists of chasing them at high speed around the garden in the dark. She isn’t quite sure what to make of one in full daylight, in the house and that doesn’t try heading for the next parish. It isn’t dark or in the garden, ergo it must not be a cat. So what the fuck is it?
The cat, on the other hand seems to know damn well what Penny is, but isn’t quite sure of himself. Every now and then when Penny is dozing, he’ll sneak up to her for a closer inspection, not realising that Penny has perfected the art of falling asleep with one eye half open.
The rules of engagement are simple. Everything is fine if they are both still. They will stare at each other in a poor attempt at hypnosis, each refusing to blink first. Usually the cat will have taken refuge on the kitchen table while the dog remains at ground level with a dogged determination not to let the cat down to floor level again.
If the cat makes a move, the dog tends to back off in a hurry and hide behind my legs. She’s a big softie at heart. However if the cat makes the mistake of breaking into a fast move then all hell breaks loose. Penny is now on familiar territory, the penny has dropped and she now recognises this intruder to be a cat, so will merrily chase it back onto the kitchen table or some other safe spot. I have already had to drag it backwards from up the sitting room chimney.
On a different note, there is a bit of a gender problem. For the last fifteen years or so I have been the only member of the male species in the house, while Penny, Sandy and Herself are/were of the opposite persuasion. The tendency is therefore to refer to all animals [including Herself] as “she”, so naturally the cat falls into that category. But she – he – it is a male [or rather it was] so I spend my time referring to “she – he – it” [shit for short?] in a futile attempt to be politically correct. In fact, to save a lot of trouble I just refer to “cat” all the time and leave pronouns and given names out of the equation altogether. It makes life a lot easier.
Things are quiet at the moment. Penny is dozing beside her dish just in case cat should attempt something above its station. I don’t know where cat is, though judging by Penny’s rolling eyeball, it’s somewhere up the far end of the room.
It’s probably brainwashing mice into wearing suicide vests to attack Penny.
These truces never last very long.
Does the cat have a name? If not, how about Lennan-Shea/Leannan-Sidhe/etc.
Sounds a bit like “She”, so he’ll fit in.
Officially his name is Malone, but seeing as he doesn’t answer to his name anyway, I think that’s a bit academic. I shall continue to call him Cat. It’s a name I won’t forget anyway….
Sounds about normal when it comes to having more than one pet in the house so all is right at the manor.
A few years back my wife and I had a new addition of the feline persuasion enter our household in the form of a very young female cat named “Marzi”. Scrawny little thing that weighed all of 4 pounds. Our senior, somewhat large, female cat and “Her Scrawnyness” immediately despised each other, mostly on the part of Her Scrawnyness. These days little has changed. Marzi still weighs all of 4 pounds, our senior female is still large and both still despise one another.
The fun never ends.
We had a major bust-up yesterday. The new rule is that Herself and Cat have the front of the house while Penny and I have the back, with a solid door in between. It’s working out very well. I can nearly wear my watch again as the swelling of my left arm is going down, but I’m not so sure about my right index finger. Every time I try to type, I shall think of Cat. He has incredibly sharp teeth….
Oh right. Forgot to mention that scratches and poke holes go with the territory when it comes to felines. Even when they’re showing how much they love you.
Enjoy yourselves.
We live in an area blessed with at least three cats, one ours and formerly immensely quiet tabby and unobtrusive, plus two from next door neighbours. Both neighbours are about to leave for various reasons. One cat is a black and white Burmese with built-in kill-and-destroy instincts, the other a beautiful fluffy white concoction with adorable habits. The Burmese is accepted by our cat, but due to leave soon. The fluffy white is often left to its own devices, so we feed her when possible. Now the dilemma: – our cat takes no notice of the Burmese, but chases the fluffy away when possible.
How do we solve the problem?
Unless of course, we get a dog to even out the situation?
Definitely get a dog. It may not solve the problem but will provide hours of entertainment.
Once the dog learns that the cat’s got very, very sharp claws on its feet, which will only happen once the cat stops running away and uses them once or twice, it’ll all be over. The cat will most definitely then be in charge. End of story. Cats always win out in the end. We once had a tiny, elderly, scrawny tabby who, when introduced to the sister in law’s new Rottweiler very quickly made it clear what happened to whipper-snappers when they got too pushy. As a result, the dog – which quickly grew to huge proportions – remained utterly terrified of the cat and would retreat respectfully to his bed whenever Moggy strolled by.
Well, certainly I have discovered that cats have very very sharp claws and teeth, and I only hope the blood washes out of one of my few good shirts.
After last night’s Big Bust-up, the dog is now ignoring Cat altogether although Cat is very wary of the dog. Peace reigns provided I keep the door closed between the front and the back of the house. In fact I am considering bricking up that door altogether. It may prove inconvenient for Herself as I have the kitchen end, but she’s the one who wanted a cat in the first place.