Fun with ants
You need:
1 biscuit tin lid, small disc of polythene, foil milk-bottle top, some wire and croc-clips, ants.

Place milk-bottle top on the polythene and place that onto the biscuit tin lid, thus insulating the two.

Attach wires to the MBT and the BTL so that the MBT is live and the BTL is ground.

Tip some ants into the MBT and switch on the power, preferably from a HT generator or even mains power will do.

The ants will mill about until one of the gets bored and decides to escape. As it completes the circuit, and tends to complain. Using HT means that it will complain in the form of being vaporised.

Repeat until ant-less.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:48, 7 replies)

Poppy
I have always owned cats. I love their rebellious nature and fuck you eyes. The first few kitties who deigned to share their lives with me were cruel, clever, fighting, feral killers. They lived by the sword and eventually died by it (one hit by a car, another died in a fight with a fox! nutty fucking thing)

After the fox murdered my friend, and a decent interval of grieving had passed, I purchased a new kitten. This kitten was one of a new breed of cats - this one was thick as shit. Poppy was her name and she was dopey, affectionate and clumsy.

Anyway, onto the accidental cruelty. One morning I was in the kitchen performing my usual duties, bowl of hot soapy water for the dishes at the ready. Poppy was not allowed on the kitchen surfaces, but this morning she just forgot and leapt up onto the worktop just next to the sink. She made me jump and I shrieked and flung my arms out in an involuntary action. Can you guess? Yes, I actually pushed my beloved, stupid little kitten into a bowl of hot soapy water. Luckily for Poppy I don’t have the water too boiling hot because I don’t like rubber gloves, I’m sure that was of great comfort to her as she flailed about mewling. She looked like a little rat when I scooped her out, and the look on her face is one I’ve never forgotten. Pure Betrayal.

Good old Poppy, She was truly the queen of stupid cats, and when she disappeared from my life, she left a gaping hole. I Love you Poppy, wherever you may be.

Apologies for length – and for the tear I had to wipe away
( my_cat_has_no_shoes meh meh meh MEH MEH, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:43, 3 replies)

One of my old school friends
Who was a very sweet and kind boy decided that it was wrong to keep his budgie cooped up in his cage all day whilst he was at school.

So, whilst everyone else was getting ready for the school run, he grabbed the budgie took it outside and with the aid of some sellotape, safely secured the budgie to the washing line by taping it's legs together below it.

As he watched the budgie flapping it's way down the washing line, he turned and walked into the house.

Unfortunately, he paid no thought to what the budgie was going to do when it got to the end of the line and came home that evening to find the poor thing hanging upside down.
( 99redbuffoons Reversed the polarity of the neutron flow at, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:38, 2 replies)

***************Just thought I'd post a warning*********************
Some complete twunt has posted a large pic of his cock, balls and chocolate starfish on the main page, it hasn't been removed by mods yet.

NSFW whatsoever.

EDIT: it's gone now. Thankfully.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:36, 10 replies)

Yes.
When I was a youngster I was visiting some cousins in Belfast. I walked into the living room and saw a plastic ball on the floor. So I hoofed it across the room, and it went out the window and rolled down the hilly street, never to be seen again.
How was I to know it was one of them exercise balls you put a hamster into when you're cleaning their cage?
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:35, Reply)

Sod animal cruelty
My cat is cruel to me. He is a vicious little begger and is prone to random acts of violence.

At night he likes to hide behind doors and if you get up to do a wee, he jumps out and does a kind of rugby tackle as you walk down the hallway in teh dark.

It is a bit like that Kato chap from the pink panther films. You never know where or when he will strike.
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:34, 4 replies)

lab work
Intentional cruelty to houseflies is probably about as unacceptable as cruelty to yoghurt.

A friend of mine used to work as a lab assistant at a college, and one day he's going about his duties, cleaning nasty shit out of test-tubes and so on, when he spies a big bluebottle flying into the room. He ignores it, but it keeps flying about until he manages to stun it with a wire gauze.

He scoops it up into a test-tube and decides to give it the full Moonraker treatment in the centrifuge.

After 5 mins, he shuts it off and retrieves the fly, expecting to find it nicely seperated. But no, it just sits there.

He tips it out, and after about 20secs, it wakes up and flies off as if it was pissed.

He catches it again in a tube, and drops a tiny bit of acid on it, which it objected to by buzzing extremely loud.

He was most disappointed.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:33, Reply)

Not me
I honestly can't remember ever being cruel to an animal, except pouring salt on a slug once. I'd like to try my hand at hunting though.

When I was but a nipper, I had a cat. As many younguns do, I named my cat after a favourite cartoon character. Top Cat.

I'm still proud of that decision, twenty years later.

Anyway, one day my cat was hit by a car, and was found by a couple on their way to a dinner party next door. At the party was the local Vicar, who decided that there was nothing to be done for poor TC, and got in his car in order to finish him off the humane way.

Apparently it took the forcefulness of several other guests to convince him that TC seemed to be in quite reasonable shape, possibly only a broken leg, and regardless the vet down the road would be in a better position to make a life or death judgement.

A vicar with blood lust towards pets? There's a reason I stopped going to church.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:31, 2 replies)

proper cruel.
At what point do people stop caring about animal cruelty? Is it just mammals, birds, fish and anything else one can buy as a pet?

If a load of rats infested your kitchen, you'd probably not care to much if the pest control guy turned up with just a big mallet. Ok, maybe not.

Or cockroaches, spray them with really nasty chemicals.

What about a plague of kittens? How would one deal with that? Swarming around the house, pulling down the curtains, scratching the furniture, exuding their cuteness.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:21, 4 replies)

Stupid Bloody Cats
We own two extremely stupid cats, and invented a fun game of skill and daring taking advantage of this stupidity. The aim of the game is to hit the cat in the face with a ping-pong ball. Every time you do this you garner a point... However, if the cat reacted with anything less reflexive than a blink, your turn was over.

A friend and I spent a couple of drunken hours playing this game with the more stupid of my two cats, and I went to bed that night satisfied that a good time was had by all. Unfortunately, my cat was not quite so happy.

By the next day she had a swelling the size of a tennis ball near her eye and ran away from me every time I came near her. She also has a fear of ping-pong balls.

Trying to explain to the vet how she had a black eye was quite difficult...
(Rotten_Cointreau is a proper scientician, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:18, Reply)

One especially for spikeypickle!
I think I may have even mentioned this one in a previous QOTW, but here we go anyways.

Years back now I was living with my dad and step mother, they have big dogs, at the time they consisted of 1 fully grown irish wolf hound male, 1 irish wolf hound alsation cross female, 1 greyhound old female, 1 lurcher male (kills anything that moves).

So one night I'm at my PC minding my own business and I hear all this barking kick off in the garden, nothing new there really, my step mother went flying past the door to the room I was in to go shut them up. There were all manor of noises going on out there, snarling, barking, squeeling.. so I decided to investigate.

I passed her on her back back in with the lurcher held by the collar, he looked very wired.

"He had a cat and I think it's still out there", she said as she passed. So I thought I'd go out and check.

I found the cat by the pond, lying next to a big rock, it didn't look very happy and part of it's intestines were hanging out. Now I wasn't sure what to do about this, so I went back in and suggested taking it to the vets, I was told that wasn't a good idea as it could end up with the dog being put down. This was a bit of a situation for me as I'm a cat person, I prefer them, they smell and whine less.

Anyway, my dad stepped in and decided to "help". So we both went outside and he decided that we should put the cat down... ummm... I had seen my uncle put down farm animals and I know that going for the throat is the quickest way, my dad didn't agree with this method. He decided that stoving the cats head in with a huge metal pole was more humane...

*10 minute interlude of cat squeeling noises while my dad repeatedly mangles the cat up that refused to die*

Quite possibly one of the most disturbing things I have witnessed.

But hey! I would have walked to the vet with it, so my intentions were all good, weren't they? :(

The following few weeks I kept spotting "missing cat" posters all over the place :(

Did I mention I prefer cats?

Edit: I must point out that all of the dogs except the wolfhound male, were rescue dogs, so they came with some emotional baggage.
( Firkinfedup last shat on your wife's tits at, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:11, 7 replies)

Kids are very literal creatures.
I have no recollection of this incident myself but my mum has always taken great pleasure in regaling this tale to visiting suitors.

One wet, week day morning, I must have been about 3, my mother was loading things into the tumble dryer when a sopping, bedraggled ball of fluff who we shall call Betty, for that was her name, came through the catflap. My mother said something along the lines of 'Oh poor Betty, she's all wet' and bustled off to make the beds (this I find very hard to believe as she has never made a bed in her life, far more likely to have sloped off to watch some banal daytime television...) leaving her 3 year old to glance between the sorry looking kitten and the amazing machine that you put wet things into which then miraculously come out dry. Yes, you can see where this is going.

It was only upon hearing an odd thunking noise coming from the tumble dryer that my mother ventured to investigate and rescue a very disgruntled, albeit drier, kitten.

She did live to tell the tale you'll be relieved to know but seemed to undergo a personalty transplant and was known forever more as Psycho Cat due to her pathalogical loathing of all human beings, oops.

:-)
(Princessbadger, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:08, Reply)

When Ants Attacks
My little sister bought herself an ant farm - one of those gel ones, where you can see through the glass frame all the tiny tunnels that the little blighters make, and watch them waving their little anty antenna around, and doing whatever it is ants decide to do in edible blue gel.

She loved this ant farm. She populated it with a few black ants, and true to form they dug mini catacombs, and ran around, content in their own little ant eutopia. It was the ant equivilent of surburban bliss, with blue gel instead of picket fences. After a while, a few of these ants died fat, content deaths of old age. So, my little sister, concerned that her sociable little ant friends might get lonely now there were so few of them left, trotted off to find some new ants to add to the colony.

She was very careful to chose black ants, as everyone knows black ants and red ants hate each other.

Well, it turns out that there is some civil war going on in black ant land.

It was a massacre. Through the clear glass frame, we could do nothing but stand helplessly by as a vicious and bloody genocide swept through the blue gel tunnels. Limbs were removed, and left to clutter up the floor. Feuding ants formed katamari like balls of rage, that rolled down the gentle inclines of their mini citadel. Corpses were piled in corners. One savage ant trooped onwards, the severed head of a foe still clamped in death onto his hind leg. It made the 300 look like a carebear movie.

In true Highlander form, in the end, there was only one. One battle weary ant, with a dead head still attached to his back leg. He lived out the rest of his days in catacombs full of ant corpses, and my sister didn't dare give him any more friends for fear of the terrible rage he might unleash on them.

When he finally died, she tried washing out all the dead ants from the tunnels with water, but they simply swirled around like a really horrific version of an ant massacre snow globe. She tried to introduce new ants, but as if sensing the death and destruction that had occured in the tunnels below, they huddled on the surface and refused to go inside.

In the end she gave up, and started raising sea monkeys instead.
(itsnotmehonest, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:06, 8 replies)

Fluffeh vs Fluffeh
What happens when a moggy spoiling for a fight takes on an innocent bunny rabbit?

(apologies for lack of HTML-thingy)

www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSdAF8B3BNk
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 7 Dec 2007, 15:03, 2 replies)

PeaRoast
...I was racing against a friend during what was to be the final hour of our thrash around the hills on our trusty Moutainbikes. We were riding through a stretch of fast and downhill field. We did it all the time.

This time however was to be different: This time we were stoned. It was Dark, and we were slightly pissed.

Leering at each other like passengers in the Sunshine Variety Bus in murky darkness, we pounded on the pedals and hurled ourselves downwards into oblivion. We were moving at warp speed into darkness. Scotty the engineer had nothing on us - He was right - HIS engines didn'ea have the power - OURS however were pushing us faster and faster until the world was a blur - We were going faster than humanly possible - We were laughing like maniacs - The feeling of speed was stupendous - the wind in our ears was roaring - the rushing sensation was..... GONE!
and so was my mate.
and so was my bike.

I was in pain. Really serious pain. I was alone in the dark, on the ground, and clutching at my nuts which seemed to have been violated in some way... I was a bloody and mangled heap of hurt.

It was then that I heard the noise. A deep gutteral gurgling-wheezing noise that had no right to exist. It was scaring the pap out of me, and then I realised where it was coming from... It was coming from my mouth.

I tried to stop it, but failed. my mind was taken up wiht the fact that I was making a silly noise and couldn't stop, and I only changed my focus when the cause of my crash made itself apparent: Thundering towards me was a particularly irate Bull. It was making a noise that's hard to describe. "pissed off Bovine" fails to cover it.

Try imagining the noise that a Gorilla would make if he was wearing a Ball-Gag, with his hands cuffed to his ankles, as you shove a Giant, Freshly-boiled and steaming hot Pinapple up his tightly puckered tea-towel holder.... Make it louder, blend in the steam-whistle froma train and then add Thundering hooves as a background noise....

Worrying? you don't know the half of it. If I hadn't have been stunned like a rabbit in the headlights, I'd have been skidding in my own shit (yes, again) trying to get out of it's path.

It arrived. On me. Two seconds after I had first sighted it. I had my own personal stampede.

*********
I can assure you, that if you're going to ride hell for leather through a field in the dark, It's a good idea to check for standing-and-sleeping cows.

Ride around them. Do not under any circumstances ride INTO them. Especially if they are giant bulls. Especially if you're doing the best part of 40mph.

**************

I was caught in a one-Bull stampede. It was not the most jolly occasion of my life. I realised that the beast was as blind in this darkness as I was. The pain of getting onto all fours and crawling took my breath (and silly noises) away. I crawled away from the meaty mother-fucker and found my mangled bike just as my mate re-appeared.

The damage list was surprisingly small
£600 Kona bike frame bent out of shape (but still ridable)
1 snapped handlebar. (bull arse)
2 broken ribs, (initial bull impact)
1 fractured finger, (bull stampage)
2 bruised nuts, (handlebar stem)
1 torn Scrote. (see above)

During the stomping I was convinced that I was going to die.
The Pain in my scrote for the next few days made me wish I HAD died: I had to abstain from wanking for at least 36 hours.

I'd like to Apologise to the Farmer for violating his prize-bull's arse with a mountain bike.

Length? I rekon it went in up to the brake lever.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:59, 4 replies)

oh and spikeypickle...
...well done on your promotion to 'Guardian of the QOTW integrity'. I hope the ginger furher gave you a jacket, whistle and walkie talkie to help you police your arena and root out those perps who dare to stray.

And split someones head with a machete? Tough talk, tough tough talk......on a website too. Double tough with an extra tough coating.

Hell you might even come round to my hous....oh hang on, we're still only on a website...phew
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:54, 6 replies)

spikeypickle - another one
Years back, I had a wee cavalier king charles puppy called Wendy. I had taken her for a walk to the beach where a couple of my friends were engaging in underage drinking. One of the friends was a large lady called Shirley. When I got there she was well on the way, in fact she was unable to walk properly.
Myself and the friend she was with decided it was best we get her home.
As she was of larger bones, we each put one of her arms across our shoulders and half carried, half dragged her towards her house. We had made it about 100 yards from her house (which was about 200 yards from my own house) when Wendy suddenly ran forward. As I had a large women on my shoulder I was unable catch the lead or to give chase. Next thing I heard were the screach of brakes and then a repeated high pitched arf arf arf arf arf arf noise.
Poor wendy, she arf'd all the way to the vets who immediately put her down. Broken spines are not so healable it turns out.

(PS:- Bad bad bad people who thought this would be a 'fat women sits on dog' story)
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:49, 4 replies)

anvil accident
My uncle George is a blacksmith. A few years ago I was watching him make horseshoes and he offered me the chance to have a go. So I put on the gloves and the apron (to stop sparks) and grabbed hold of the hammer and tongs.

I was happily but inexpertly banging away at the soft, red-hot metal when his cat Moggs became frisky at the sight of my twitching apron strings. With an athletic leap, the cat suddenly appeared between the descending hammer and the shiny metal surface of the anvil. There was a liquid crunch, a strangled meow and his brains were dashed all over the place, hissing and sizzling on the hot metal while the lifeless furry body fell to the sawdust.

"I've warned him about that before," said Uncle George, apparently missing the point that cats can't understand health and safety instructions.
(frankspencer, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:48, 3 replies)

ok spikeypickle, i hadn't read the QOTW properly
so allow me to regale you with a story of accidental cruelty. When i were but a lad about 11-12 years old, i got a budgie. I named him Joey for i was short of imagination even then.
He was a great bird, would come out of the cage on your finger, fly around, hop back on your finger and go back into his cage.
One day I ran out of Trill bird food. I recalled a friend of mine who also had budgies telling me that whenever he ran out of bird food, he would simply put some cornflakes into the birds food dish until he got a chance to buy some more Trill.
I checked our cupboards and we were out of cornflakes but we did have weetabix so I crushed up some and put it in his dish. A day or two later I arrived home with some freshly purchased bird food to find poor Joey lying sparko flat on his back very much dead.
I never considered the fact that when weetabix gets wet it expands considerably. I can only surmise that poor Joey ate until he was full then sat back on his perch growing ever more distressed that the food in his already full tummy was steadily increasing in size.
Then again, maybe he was just gluten intolerent! Either way, I felt bad. I also recall feeling a bit miffed that I'd wasted some of my pocket money on bird food that would never be used.
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:40, 2 replies)

In the garden, playing ball with a friend's labrador...
...we were playing the ancient and traditional game of "chuck a ball to the other end of the garden and the dog will bring it back, covered in slobber."

Unfortunately, this garden wasn't particularly long, and the dog wasn't particularly good at stopping itself, so every time the ball hit the fence at the far end of the garden, so did the dog's face, with a rather loud bump.
(moogal has eggs, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:35, 1 reply)

I did touch upon this in a previous QOTW, but Hamsters.
Yes. Hamsters. Russian Hamsters. 54 Russian Hamsters.

Started off as 2, which PetsAtHome (Formerly PetsMart) assured us were both female. We were also promised that, in the unlikely event that they either were a male and female, or were already pregnant, they would buy the babies off of us to resell. Off we trundle, with 2 little hammies and about £100 worth of Rotastak (This stuff).
Turns out they were male and female, and shortly had a litter or babies. Who then buggered each other, and mum, and dad, and got pregnant. And again, and again. Until we had (at the last count) 54 hamsters, in about 20 cages (to try and stop them shagging). My mum had to move into my room, because the cages took up her entire room. In that time, they died in a variety of ways:

Overeating
Broken necks (twisting in the bars or caught behind hamster wheels)
Broken backs (squeezing between bars and falling off the table)
Starvation (trying to squeeze between bars and getting stuck)
Cannibalism
Assorted ailments, such as diarrhea.

The original male actually outlasted all of his offspring, and was the only one to die of old age.

Oh, and when we went back to PetsAtHome, we were told they had a supplier, and wouldn't take ours. Even for free.
______________________

Also worthy of note is my old cat, Pepsi.
He was an absolutely amazing cat - the first one I ever picked out myself (all of our previous cats were either wild ones who decided to live with us, or ones my Aunt brought with her). He was really affectionate, loved a game of 'stringy' (or anything you dragged along the ground that he could pounce on), and would normally be found in the morning in bed, next to me, head on the pillow, under the covers. When he jumped off of things he would make a little trill sound, which was adorable.

Unforunately, I think we over-loved him: We used to feed him whenever we went into the kitchen, because he knew how to work us. He eventually was diagnosed with Diabetes due to overweight, and we had to put him down because it was too expensive (daily injections, weekly vet visits), and my Step-Sister's cat went through the same thing, and I saw how bad he got near the end.
( OneSullenBrit *air sandwiches*, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:24, Reply)

Completely intentional cruelty...
...but to the owner rather than the pet. Talk of Weimaraner dogs has brought it back to me.

A lad named Paul, who has now been mates of ours for years used to have two beautiful Weim dogs when we first met him, and he loved these dogs without reservation. At this time, he also had a co-habiting GF, who sadly was a double-dealing slut already making plans to shine our mate on. I knew she was going off within hours of meeting her - she was all over me and my mates but as soon as Paul added anything to the conversation she shut him down cold - the relationship was obviously doomed. Eventually she sat him down and had 'the talk' and tentative arrangements for separation were made.

It didn't actually begin to happen for real until Paul came home from work one day to find no dogs to greet him as they usually always did - they were gone. Upon being asked 'What the fuck have you done with my babies?', this cunt calmy told him that she'd given them away to a couple that lived near Ainsdale Beach, here in the northwest. No warning, no prior discussion, she'd just palmed his beloved mutts off on a couple of strangers just like that.

Upon nearly throwing the bitch in the car for a trip to Ainsdale to see these people and make sure she hadn't had them destroyed (he would have done her, her posessions AND her loved ones some damage if that had been the case for sure - he's a big lad is Paul), afterward he drove her back to thier home, chucked her case on the living room floor, told her to pack it and fuck off.

He was incandescent for days, and heartbroken for weeks after but he knew that, seeing as he was going to have to move somewhere smaller (that being in with us in the house we shared with some friends at the time), a house on a beach was a good environment for them and the couple themselves were really nice folks and would take care of them. He made them promise to send him photos of them from time to time, which they did. There's one of them sat behind one another on a dune that looks like a canine version of that David Bailey photo of the Krays - quality :)

Paul is married with kids these days, but we talk about his first babies from time to time, and the unbelivable cruelty of his bitch of an ex that fucked them off without a by-your-leave when they weren't even hers. What an appalling cunt that girl was.

EDIT for Slurpy: Like I said, he knew was going to have to move out of the house he shared with his ex, and he wouldn't be able to afford a place big enough for two Weimaraners on his own. Hence his decision to leave them where they were. He visited them often though :)
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:24, 6 replies)

Chicken Fucker.
Before I jumped Island and left the UK, I had a next door neighbour who was a Lawyer. She seemed to pick the wierdest cases..

The last time she told me of her efforts to defend someone she was trying to hold back tears of mirth. Apparently there are some cases you don't want to win.

The guy she'd been attempting to defend was first brought to Plod's attention when neighbours complained about the stench from his wheelie-bin. Refuse Re-location Officers had checked the wheeliebin to find a plethora of dead chickens. Strange: this was in a town...

Plod investigated, and found that each and every one of the chikkins had died after being fully run through with a pork sword. Man was arrested.

The Damming bit of Evidence was the 5mm rubber apron with chicken-blood and scratch marks on it. And a Hole. Apparently the chickens objected to the treatment, and the little raking chicken-feet could be a pain in the nuts: hence the need for apron.

A neighbour came forward to say that it was the WIFE who'd been putting the birds in the bin.. And it later turned out that the wife was not only aware of his actions... but actually was the owner of some fairly hefty rubber gloves, used to hold the chickens for her hubby.

Sweet.

oh.... and not really accidental. Sorry.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:24, 1 reply)

Pine cone
Earlier this year, I was on a campsite in France. I woke up one morning and went straight outside, bleary eyed. I saw a pine cone on the floor and booted it across the grass

Turned out to be a hedgehog
(davefromkent, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:09, 2 replies)

Rant and rave (Great big edit!)
Real cruelty isn't funny. Accidental cruelty can be funny. Some posts show people as being cunts. Others posts don't.

I don't like the 'real' cruelty ones.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:07, 7 replies)

Wet pussy story
Wet pussy is always good even if, as in this case, it's ginger and a bit daft.

My sister and her husband have two cats. The older one is fat, lazy, smart and friendly. the younger one is thick as shit, skinny, scatty and to cap it all, ginger. Anyway, sis had had a note round to say the water company were doing some work in her street and the supply would be off for a day. So she filled the bath with water.

You can see where this is going.

Later that day she was in the bathroom, when cat no. 2 came hurtling up the stairs, into the bathroom and jumped straight into the bath. Which was full of cold water. Of course, much of this water ended up on the floor as the now soggy, confused and rather distressed moggy thrashed about trying to get traction on the slippery enamel and eventually scrabbled his way out of the bath, leaving a trail of water all through the house.

The thing is, she'd never seen him even jump up onto the bath before, let alone straight in over the side. If that cat was human it would keep social services in business single handed.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:06, 2 replies)

Me and my brother
would tourment the cat by just meowing at it constantly when it entered the near vicinity, it would soon scoot off with it's ears pricked back.

One day we were playing Gran Turismo, and the cat plodded into the room, cue,

MEEEOOWWW MEEEOOWWW MEEEOOWWW MEEEOOWWW MEEEEEEEEEEOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

*cat runs away*

Much laughter from me and my brother and then I hand over the controller to him so he can fail to beat my amazing lap time. The room goes quiet for a moment while the game loads and all I can hear is

(very quietly)

meeoooww.... *farrrttt*
..*splatter*... *fart*.....
meeoooww....

We both looked toward the noise to see the cat projectile shitting up the carpet, curtain, door, bookshelf and contents, plus anything else in that area.

Thusly I spent the next 30 minutes gagging whilst attempting to clean up the mess.

She got her own back at least!

Edit: And meowing at a cat is hardly cruel in my opinion, but not realising she needed to go out for a shit; was.
( Firkinfedup last shat on your wife's tits at, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 14:06, 1 reply)