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This is a question Accidental animal cruelty

I once invented a brilliant game - I'd sit at the top of the stairs and throw cat biscuits to the bottom. My cat would eat them, then I'd shake the box, and he would run up the stairs for more biscuits. Then - of course - I'd throw a biscuit back down to the bottom. I kept this going for about half an hour, amused at my little game, and all was fine until the cat vomited. I felt absolutely dreadful.

Have you accidentally been cruel to an animal?
This question has been revived from way, way, way back on the b3ta messageboard when it was all fields round here.

(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:13)
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This question is now closed.

hamster
it bit me, clung on for a while, i shook my hand, hamster went flying into a wall.
It did get up fine afterwards, but was a pain to catch as i dont think he was best pleased
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:27, 4 replies)
Cats! Begging! Tikka! Stench!
My much missed moggy Leonard had some bizarre tastes, none more so than indian food. This appeared to be the result of him spending a few weeks scavenging the stuff from the bins at the local Asda supermarket prior to being turned over to the cat rescue, but nothing was more welcome than the offer of a chunk of chicken tikka and half an onion bhajee. One might upon reflection consider that feeding a cat spicy Indian food is a tad cruel, but the little guy would get all excited the moment I started cooking on curry night.

Len was a throughly likeable character, he wasn't pushy or a scrounger, yet was very affectionate and friendly to all. The furry little critter wasn't above bribery either, as I discovered one evening when I managed to teach him to sit on command in return for a chunk of curry. Within twenty minutes, he was not only sitting on command, but also begging and raising his paw in a "high five".

Friends thought it hilarious when I'd call Len into the lounge for his party trick. None of them would believe me until they saw it with their own eyes.

"Len, sit. Good boy"...

"Len, beg... That's it."

"Len, gimme high five. Good fellah. High five."

At this point he'd be rewarded with his portion of curry, bhajee and naan in his favorite bowl.

To be fair, he didn't necessarily need the bribery of a reward to sit and beg, he'd often just do it on command because he was obliging like that. Anyhoo...

What they didn't find endearing was when a very contented cat climbed into their lap for a post Ruby Murry fuss only to produce some highy noxious gasses from his furry balloon knot. Cats don't cope with spices and onion bhajees very well (much like one or two of my exes in fact) and the end result was one highly toxic moggy. I swear the little guy was secretly proud of himself.

Even so, he was one seriously loveable cat so all would be forgiven in short order and he'd be allowed to sleep on my duvet once the flatulence had subsided.

If only I had applied the same rule to one or two ex-g/fs.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:23, 5 replies)
whoops!
Me and my chums were riding innocently around my estate with a pack of ravenous fox hounds, when dash it, the rascals accidently ripped to pieces a nearby fox. Luckily, I explained my predicament local chief of police over a G+T or two later. Being a reasonable fellow, he understood and thus I escaped prosecution.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:22, 1 reply)
Scruffy
This is one of my ealiest memories. Detail in this memory is a little fuzzy - some parts more than others, but hey-ho. There are no deliberate mistakes in the account, but that's not to say it's exactly as remembered.

When I was little we moved house. The whole house had these astonishingly dangerous sash windows that opened up completely (2/3 ft square gap in the wall? 18" off the ground of a first floor* room? WTF?). My bedroom window was over a concrete path in the back garden.

I was unpacking/playing/skiving in my room on moving day when I saw one of our cats, Scruffy, sat on my windowsill with the window wide open. (I'm sure that by now the IQ required to guess where this story leads has dropped to around 3)

Now, I can't claim it was unintentional in the strictly literal sense as it clearly wasn't, but I know that I loved Scruffy and would never have wanted to hurt her - I can only conclude that I, being young enough, truly believed she was capable of the instructions I gave her as I happily pushed her through said window: "Fly Scruffy, fly!". I claim it to be unintentional on the basis of stupendous naivety.

There was a happy ending - due to the move there just happened to be a bed, complete with mattress, in the back garden in just the right place. My mum swears blind that scruffy bounced back to almost the height of the window she had just left, but I don't remember, and don't believe a word of it. I figure I'm a better judge of cat-bounce physics than her, memory notwithstanding.

PS: Yes, I am still suitably guilt-ridden and ashamed.
PPS: Yes, Scruffy forgave me, eventually.
PPPS: No, she died several years later of old age, not more of my idiocy.
PPPPS: Did I mention that my dad's a big cheese in the RSPCA?

Length was the height of a first floor window, minus the height of a bed, plus any bouncing that may have occured.

*That's a UK 'first floor', ie, a US 'second floor' or just plain ol' 'upstairs'.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:17, 4 replies)
cat sellotape game
Needed :

1 piece of sellotape or similar
1 cat (smart or dumb - doesn't matter)

Put sellotape on top of head, sticky side to the fur. With a stopwatch see how long it takes to come off.

Take careful note of the futile "licking-your-own-elbow" type efforts.

Its not cruel. How can sellotaping cats be cruel?

Cruel was when we changed the floor from carpet to wood whilst our first kitten was having his plums chopped off. He came home, woozy, wandered in and was fine until his little legs splayed out on the shiny surface splatting his empty nutsack on the floor.
The look of pain and suprise still makes my heart sink. He didn't know why it hurt, why it happened, and possibly why it didn't hurt more. Poor little fella.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:14, 2 replies)
When I were a nipper
we had a mongrel dog, which was fat, stupid and smelled like last week's fish and chips. But he was ours and we loved tolerated him. When I was about 13 and he was about 10 (so getting on in dog years) my older sister came over and she brought her new dog. It was a glorious Collie/Alsation cross that was tall, beautiful, striking, and the doggie equivalent of that 18 year old that suddenly blossoms and all the guys would cut off their left testicle to get with her.

Now, my fat, stupid, smelly dog had never been within groping range of a female dog before, let alone without being on a leash. This was doggy heaven. It was like having your own dream girl come to your door and strip off. Except she wasn't quite so willing.

Cue about an hour of my dog trying to hump the new dog (which was about a foot taller than him). She would constantly bite him to tell him no, but five minutes later he would have weighed up the risk of losing a limb with the chance of getting his leg over and he'd be back at it.

And the cruelty? There was two parts.

Firstly, the poor bitch had been trapped in the same room as the canine sewage farm for several hours, having to constantly fend off his advances. I guess it's the equivalent of a young woman being constantly hit on at the pub by the dirty old letch (every pub has one) except this time the doors are locked.

Secondly, my poor hellspawn had the biggest erection you've ever seen, and it wasn't going to go away while she was around. He literally could not sit down for two hours because it was dragging along the floor. I'll never forget the image of looking over at my dog, who was standing there, exhausted, panting, sore, whopping great stiffy resting gently on the carpet, and looking like he was thinking "just give me five minutes, I'll get her this time..... Maybe 10 minutes"
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:12, 5 replies)
gerbils
i once accidentally sat on my gerbil and it ended up in my ass.

was a complete accident honest

lots of christmas love

richard gere

(sorry, ill get my coat)

length well about 3 inches, it was quite a large gerbil
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:08, Reply)
Being an ‘animal lover’ and being a good ‘animal keeper’ is not necessarily the same thing…
I am an animal lover…not in THAT way…but I do love animals.

However…If you are unfortunate to have read some of my previous posts you will know that:

I have accidentally boiled 2 fish. (1 survived…its name was Jesus).

I have inadvertently fed my undercrackers filled with post-circumcision op gunk to the family dog.

Also, a bandmate and I nearly killed a (different) dog with just the power of fart at a private gig once.

But Anyhoo…this is the story of a Rabbit…called ‘Alan’.

Alan was black as night…black as coal….and cute as a button. We used to let him wander round the house until he started shitting behind the TV…then it went into a hutch thing in a spare room…before he started spraying piss all up the walls…so it was into the garage with him.

But now in the garage there was no need for the hutch…so I built him a huge area with surrounding walls, different things to hop over and loads of room. He would be the envy of every rabbit in our street. Aren’t I kind?

The thing is…the dozy twat-rag kept trying to escape by leaping over the wall I had built him so I built it higher…and higher…but the little fucker didn’t stop trying to jump out so I finally built a sort of ‘semi-roof’ on the wall. ‘That’ll stop the bastard’ I proudly proclaimed.

It sure as shit did…the next day we went in to find Alan stiff as a board on the sawdust. From what we can gather…he hadn’t sussed that I’d try anything than to put another layer of bricks in the wall…so he leapt with all his strength…straight into the roof which either killed him outright or knocked him off balance and he karked it when he hit the bricks below.

D’oh.

As for Pooflake the cat…he’s fucking brilliant but we don’t exactly look after him as well as we should…You know…like feeding him regularly and stuff.

We had actually long suspected him to be a ‘bit of a thickie’ (like his namesake) For instance; he sits on the bonnet of the car and lets you drive about half a mile before jumping off.

However, it turns out that he has at least 3 families in our street who have ‘adopted’ him. He keeps turning up looking fatter and fatter, and wearing different collars (some are proper gay though – so we all laugh at him and point). Despite the fact that we have seen him in the front windows of three different houses in our street, he always knows where his home is though…so who’s the thickie there?
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:07, 2 replies)
The cat who didn't like smoking
This is going back many years, to the early-90s and a delightful small town that is Burford in the Cotswolds.
The group of friends that I was part of would congregate in the flat of another friend at the end of hard nights scrumpy drinking for pie-eating (fresh from the bakery at 1am) and general smoking of the most-recent diesel dipped squigy black. The other occupant of said flat was a small black cat (who is the star of the story, to remain on topic obviously), named for want of anything better, Meow-thang.
Now, Meow-thang had the look of a cat that lived of scraps from the butchers that was situated below the flat, namely that it had a worried look in his eyes. I’m not sure if it was worried or whether it had some congenital anomaly but I digress… So picture if you will the scene, up to eight people sat around listening to Ozric Tentacles, Penguin Café Orchestra or somesuch tripped out music, busily smoking the only dope that could be got hold of in the arse-end of nowhere.
Meow-thang didn’t like blowbacks, buckets or even walking into a room filled with acrid dope smoke. What Meow-thang did enjoy was quietly sitting with his owner at the beginning of the end of the night as more people turned up. As more joints were passed around any motion of trying to get the cat stoned would be met with a flailing ball of claws and a look of general pissed off-edness, but the cat would quite happily inspect the smoke that would be trailing out of whoever’s shoulder he was currently leaning against. Nothing wrong with this one would think, until Meow-thang decided to go for a walk… he sat up, stretched and set of to walk down the outstretched legs of whoever he had been sat on. He gets down to the ankles and proceeds to set one paw on the floor, only to be met with complete surprise that the floor doesn’t have the same amount of ‘give’ as a person’s leg. Meow-thang promptly jumped vertically into the air and scarpered out of the door into ‘fresh air’.

The first time this occurred was met with great amusement but the cat proceeded to do it every time there was a session, but still didn’t like getting blowbacks etc. Damn cat was getting passively stoned on purpose, and some people don’t think that cats are intelligent. This one wasn’t.

Length? So what. But what a name for a cat!
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 12:04, 1 reply)
I'll tell you about cruelty
There's some bloke in last week's QOTW who keeps birds in the fridge.


Sorry, got a bit apeloverage on you there.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:59, Reply)
A whales of a girl from school...
...Heather Seabul once sat on a litter of Labrador puppies and killed them. £3000 of puppy reduced to furry pancakes.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:58, Reply)
My sister's cat is a bit dense.
It would chase anything you dangle in front of it, behind it, in earshot of it, or anywhere really.

One day, while bored having a family xmas at the family home, I was tormenting the cat with string and other bits of stuff. I then decided it needed to be more exciting - so I tied the string around the cat's tail.

At first it was just funny watching him race in circles trying to catch that elusive bit of string. Then he started getting faster and faster, spinning wildly around the room. That is, until he span head first into a table leg at high velocity. Damn near knocked him out. He staggered backwards and slumped into a half sitting, half collapsed pile where he swayed back and forth looking like he'd been at the xmas spirit. It took him a good ten minutes before he was able to stand up without swaying.

He lost interest in the string after that.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:58, Reply)
Sticky like a post it
Just last night, I failed to remember that cats are contrary at best, and learned that while they will avoid a room filled with paint fumes, mine at least are glue sniffers at heart. So I put a layer of cork tile adhesive on the floor - if you haven't used this gloop and don't know about it, you have to leave it for about half an hour to set a bit before sticking the tiles down. The thinking was that it would be ready to stick the tiles to after I returned from a scheduled vets trip, efficient use of time and all that.

And so my fluffy fluffy five kilo cat came and investigated, and before I could stop him, walked straight through the fresh laid, very wet, glue...and left a little trail of paw prints through the glue... and across the hard floor in the next room. The cruelty bit came when his progress became somewhat slower. He didn't actually stick to the floor, but he had an air of the T1000 about him as he slooooowwwweeedddd down.

Fortunately, this made him easier to catch and get into the box for the vet trip. And even more fortunately, I was able to hand him over to said vet and say, 'He appears to have glue on him. Would you mind at all just giving him a little wash?'

The cat did not come near me all night, but has, foolishly, revisited the glue.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:58, Reply)
When I was a lad
we had a rather fine cat, which lived for many years. It was very docile towards humans, but hated any other animal. It had fights with other cats, big dogs, would catch and kill rabbits etc, and even spat at a horse once.

Anyway, I would have been perhaps 9 at this time, and we'd been learning at school about the eye, and how pupils contract and dilate in response to light. The cat was cited as a good example of this effect.

So I decided to try it, with the aid of my sister and I think the girl across the road who we were best friends with. They held the poor beast and I shone a very big bright torch right in its eyes. Sure enough the pupils contracted, but poor puss wasn't too happy.

My mum also used to hoover its tail (in the extension tube, not with the beaters!), which it would tolerate, unlike most cats which are scared of loud noises.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:58, 3 replies)
Flying pigeons?
A good few years ago when I was at uni in Glasgow, I was walking around Argyle St doing my christmas shopping. Being a busy pedestrian area, Argyle St was usually heaving with feathered vermin.

This one time, I walked across the street and inadvertantly caught a pigeon on the end of my Docker (I told you I was a student). It went flying - not in a proper "I'm a bird and I can fly" way, but just as a heavy lump sailing through the air.

I have no idea why the dozy shit didn't get out of the way or fly once it was airbourne, but it landed with a satisfying thud and staggered off dazed.

I felt surprisingly guilty afterwards.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:56, 3 replies)
My friend Jess
Has got a little schnauzer called Dougal, he's like an old man but in dog form.

Anyway, a few months ago we found out that Dougal has an irrational fear of fart noises. We have no idea why, we just know that we should abuse that fact.
We usually just wait until he's all nice and sleepy, and then produce an effective wet sound, he jumps up from where ever he's sleeping and runs as fast as he can out of the room.
Then repeat.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:56, 2 replies)
It's been mentioned recently on b3ta.
Kittywigs. Wigs for Cats.

When they finally stage their glorious uprising and wipe out the human race (come on, we all know that's what they're planning), the owners of this website will be first for the chop:

www.kittywigs.com/index.html
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:54, 11 replies)
Doggy dental hijinks
We have a dog, and enjoy getting her to the beach. She's lovely, mostly Staffordshire Bull Terrier, with a bit of something else (we're not sure what - it could be Pointer). We call her Millie. Or Mildew, Milders, spacker, shithead, spuckwit (spliced from spacker and fuckwit) or spucky. (She answers to all of these). She's also a bit stupid, and hasn't grasped the notion that when playing fetch the stick, the general etiquette is to put the stick at your owners feet when you've brought it back, so they can pick it up again and throw it.

Instead, she will stand there, with both front paws on the bloody thing, ready to snatch it away if you even make a move to pick it up. Sometimes we manage to grab it before she does, whereupon she proceeds to jump around you and generally be a complete spacker.

Anyway, one day Tourettes is engaged in said game, and manages to prise a particularly prize specimen of dead tree from the dog's mouth. Millie proceeds to run around her like a loon, jumping up and trying to grab hold of the stick. Tourettes manages to shake her off long enough to get a good swing, and...

CRACK! Millie is suddenly whimpering and cowering away, blood pouring from her mouth. Obviously the stick has connected, and with some force too.

However, it was only after a couple of days, when we'd managed to get a good look at her mouth, that we realise that the force of the impact had actually shattered one of her teeth.

Has it taught her not to jump around like an eejit when playing stick though? Has it fuck...
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:52, 4 replies)
I used to have a very stupid dog.
To see if he was completely dense, we tried training him to do a few tricks (sit, roll-over, beg, give a paw etc.) with limited success.

One morning, he was dozing in his favourite spot on the landing at the top of the stairs.
As I passed him, I said "Hello boy! Roll over!" - expecting him to look blankly at me as normal, but on this occasion he performed with instant obedience and rolled-over.
All the way off the edge of the stairs.
And kept on (involuntarily) rolling-over down every stair until he landed at the bottom and learnt a new trick - play dead.

Fortunately, he was ok but I felt really guilty.

He wouldn't do tricks after that. (and I don't blame him).
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:50, 3 replies)
My other doggie..
Actually, my wifes doggie is a very boisterous scottish terrier who love nothing more than grabbing the end of your jeans and attempting to throw you across the room in them.

He recently got over his fear of climbing and descending the stairs (he only has tiny legs, so the logistics for him were quite a challenge), and now has no fear of heights whatsoever.

For example; we took him to a local farm where she who must be obeyed was working. He was in the back of the car (landrover discovery) and appeared rather eager to get out and start chasing squirrels.

Now.. the back end of a discovery is about 2 1/2 feet from the ground, so we always reach in to pick him up and lower him to the floor.

On this occasion, for reasons known only to him, he decided that as soon as the door opened, he was getting out as quickly as possible.

It looked like a very graceful and well timed jump, however the wee man had not considered the drop that awaited him.

The poor little bugger did a face plant into the gravel, got up, shook himself off, and then attempted to run down to the stables. Now if anyone has seen a rabbit in the last stages of myxomatosis, they stumble and run wildly in random directions, and generally end up impacting something at high speed.

Well, he did. He ran "straight" into the nearby gate post. At this point, while obviously concussed, he decided to sit down and stare at us, as if to say "why did you let me do that?"
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:46, Reply)
Big Ears
We had a dog with really, really big ears.

So big, in fact, that they would get in the way when he was eating.

A solution! Use a clothes peg to clip them (by the hair only) above his head. He could then eat without getting covered with Tramp-flavoured Pedigree Chum.

The woman next door saw him running round the garden with his ears done up like some sort of sex pervert (there's specialist sites, you know) and reported me to the RSPCA.

I denied everything, and let Harry* poop on her lawn by way of awful revenge.

*Harry's not my dog. He's the local nutter.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:45, 2 replies)
I have a dog.
And this means I have a duty to dress up her up in all kind of weird things, bubble wrap, wrapping paper, hats, scarves, sunglasses.
The other day I found out she likes Strawberry Laces, so of course rather than just give her a few I decided to tie them to her tail and watch as she ran round in circles trying to get them off.
I'm pretty sure my brother has gotten her drunk before now also, 'cos if you put any type of alcohol in front of her she freaks out a bit and runs off.

Also, at my boyfriends house, whenever someone has a birthday they ALWAYS get one of those helium balloons, obviously we then tie these to the cats tail.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:43, 1 reply)
Younger brother, previous cat
It's perhaps a good thing that my brother abandoned his plan to become a vet fairly early on. Although his intentions were often good, the execution thereof wasn't necessarily so.

My family has had a number of cats over the years. On one occasion, when we were both much younger, said brother discovered a zit on the cat's chest, which he attempted to pop.

Except it wasn't a zit. It was a nipple. The cat was less than happy.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:34, 7 replies)
My doggie...
Is a rather excitable yet tremendously affectionate collie / lurcher cross. He loves nothing more than waiting until you've put your dinner down on the coffee table and watching you leave the room to grab a beer, as he always sees it as a means to vary his diet.

Unfortunately he tried this one day after i'd made a particulary hot chilli.

Aha!! I thought as I came back in the room, hopefully the burning sensation in his mouth will negate the craving for his dads food.

.....however, he didn't even flinch. That is until the next morning when I took him for a walk before going to work.

He did the "move your back legs as forward as possible" pose so that he didn't shit on his heels, and proceeded to start curling one out.

There's me stood there, my dog having a shit, and whining louder than I've ever heard him as the ring sting kicks in.

Poor little sod didn't have a clue what was going on as the habanero's i'd used were chemically removing the lining of his anus..

I couldn't help but laugh....

And he still steals food when he thinks he can get away with it.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:27, 4 replies)
Blowbacks, Terriers, Munchies and being stupid idiot when i was younger, oh if only i could go back...
There will probably be TONS of these type stories so i'm glad i'm first.

My stoner mate, who we'd all get stoned around his house when we were 16/17, his dog would ALWAYS want to be in the bedroom with us when were we smoking the weed, doing buckets & playing sensible soccer - he would often give him a blow back and much hilarity would ensure when he would flake out, snore and run downstairs and eat 2 full bowls of chum. he loved it.

honest, he did.

Ticket please....
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:24, 1 reply)
Dog Cricket
Playing Cricket when i was a little Raffy, take a swing aT the ball and the my dog Mad Max comes running past the stump as i swing the bat round and catch him a corker in the side of the head, Max hit the decks like a sack of spuds and one trip to the vet later and Max is none the wiser.
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:22, Reply)
left a box of liquor chocolates
wrapped up under the christmas tree and went to the theatre.

came back to find the labrador had eaten the lot (wrappers included) and was staggering round the house with a worried smile on her face.

should have known better than to leave something within reach of the stomach on legs.

she's had an entire large loaf of wholemeal bread in one go as well, which I had foolishly left out on the kitchen table over night....

woke us up howling like a wolf to be let out to relieve herself.

yay for the wonders of good house training!
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:20, Reply)
fish & vodka
he didnt last long
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:20, 5 replies)
I got my cat drunk...
... on the day I got him.

It was coming up to Burns night 2004, and, in preparation, I was making some honey and whisky ice-cream. I'd made the custard base the previous day, and left it to cool prior to putting in the churn with a piece of greaseproof paper over it to prevent a skin forming.

The next morning, I went to get the cat from the RSPCA, and, as a welcome present, offered him the paper, on which there clung some of the custard mixture. It being mainly cream and egg yolk with a bit of honey, he should like it - and he did. It was only as he finished his treat and began to stagger that one of the ingredients of honey and whisky ice cream is... um... whisky, and that I had added some already.

As I said in a previous post, I am devoted to my cat... but sometimes not all that competent a guardian.

EDIT: First post, woo, yay, exclamation mark, etc...
(, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 11:16, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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