No Accident - Deliberate
.
Pretty sure I've told this one before but can't find it.

A long time ago when the moon was young and the rocks were soft I lived in Manchester and shared a flat with a bunch of reprobates. An one night I decided to have a long, relaxing bath. The kind with very hot water, a lot of candles, soothing music and a big spliff.

So there I was, drifting away in a hot-water haze when the door suddenly opened and someone dropped a cat on me.

I leave the rest to your imagination but I ended up with a severely clawed leg, knackers, and chest and it took about ten years before I could relax in a bath again.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 10 Dec 2007, 3:34, 4 replies)

A grim QOTW
jeez. only read a couple of pages. the poor wee creatures...

ive got the direct opposite. intentional but ultimately un-cruel.
we had a mad as a box of frogs mut named ben. i loved him, the rest of the family hated him, especially mum. my elder sister devised a game in which i would happily join. we would play it regularly: lets kill ben. as small kids, our efforts were ultimately pretty harmless. the most fun one i can recall was making him an afternoon snack: the most lethal brew we could devise. made from water, dirt and some berries we had been told were poisonous. we truly believed that his time was at an end. he licked at our concoction briefly before ambling off to dig another hole or poo where he shouldnt. i can recall my mix of joy and disappointment to find him stubbornly alive later that day. Rather than reason that perhaps mum had lied about the toxic nature of the berries in a bid to stop us from playing with them, for us it was clear that ben was in fact indestructible and on that basis we stopped trying to kill him shortly after. though no cruelty was inflicted by us, the intention was there. a year or two later mum got her way and the vet proved our theory wrong. but i doubt he used squashed berries. so poor ben. in the end there was an unintentional cruelty, all too common. the cruelty of people who buy pets they dont want. mums whim cost the mut his life.
(lazy killer robot found that beer tastes better when your older, Mon 10 Dec 2007, 3:02, Reply)

Frog + Lawnmower = Im sure you can see where this is going
When I where a nipper I was frequently delegated the task of cutting our back lawn, which was quite large and had an annoying 5 meter bank half way along. Anyway needless to say it was a bastard of a lawn to cut, so upon being given this task I would ensure to put up a fuss and do it kind of half arsed to an extent.
One day I was swinging the flymo from side to side in the sort of way one would do with a strimmer when all of a sudden *CCCCHHHHHLLLLUUUNNNNGGGG* something happened!.
On closer inspection it turned out that I had just sliced a frog in half, to the extent where its back legs where very much detached from the rest of its body, but it was still alive trying to crawl away. I went and told my mum and she decided that the best thing to do would be to hit it with a spade, put it out of its misery and all that. I felt so so bad for the slimy little bugger, he was probably just hopping home to see him family when out of nowhere he had no more legs which was soon followed by a swift spade pounding in the head. *sobs*

Length? I think it was the 15 inch model.
(Rt Hon Quargflax, Mon 10 Dec 2007, 2:02, Reply)

not me but another animal
We have a breeding pair of toy poodles, or for many that may never have seen them, imagine a rat like furry thing that barks.
We also have a large female rottweiler.
The cruelty is that when the rotty was in season, she used to flaunt herself in front of our stud poodle and he could never reach past her knee.
I think it's bloody cruel that one dog should tease another sexually.
(Mensa Reject has gone out, I'll be back on, Mon 10 Dec 2007, 1:47, 1 reply)

Not entirely accidental
Back in the 80's, Scalextric's biggest rival was TCR. In place of the metal grooves the track had slightly raised metal runners to enable the cars to change lane.
Once my brother and I had learned the principal behind electricity we found great fun in sprinkling biscuit crumbs on the track and calling the dog into the room, at which point we would wait for the moment that the dog was tucking into the crumbs and then both of us would 'rev' the controllers. Happy days.
(hacienda88, Mon 10 Dec 2007, 1:42, Reply)

Poor little finches
Work experience in a pet shop, I was given the responsibility of cleaning out and feeding everything (except the fish). Yay. Of course, nobody described anything to me in detail, I was just told to feed the things with the food we had.

There were some lovely little birds in cages, with pots that slid in and out of their cages for food. I noticed that some of the little finches' pots were completely empty, so put a bit extra in as they clearly were hungry. The next day, they didn't seem to have eaten much, but I had many animals to feed and didn't think about it. A few days later, a couple of the birds were dead. Turns out these were flightless finches and needed their food scattering on the bottom of their cage :-( I'd been starving them.

My putting fresh food within smelling distance didn't help them.
(Skittlemcfluff ......................, Mon 10 Dec 2007, 1:39, Reply)

Suzie the Sausage Dog
When I was a kid my cousin had a dachshund named Suzie. She was getting pretty old, was almost blind, had no teeth, and no fur to speak of; just leathery black skin.

Unbeknownst to us kids, my uncle decided to put her down. This being rural Australia, that basically meant that he and a couple of his mates took the dog out into the bush and shot her. Later on the news was broken to us that Suzie had been very sick and so they'd put her out of her misery and now she was in doggy heaven.

Fast forward to about a year later... out of the bush wanders a strange yet familiar leathery-skinned creature. It's Suzie, still alive but missing part of her lower lip and jaw (blown away by the shot gun!). My uncle's attempts at putting her "out of her misery" had been so ineffectual that she'd not only survived the shooting, but had been living in the bush for over a year.

It was pretty freaky for us kids having this pet come back from the dead; (a kind of Stephen King "Pet Sematary" moment). My cousin was so happy and Suzie was so excited to see him again. My aunty then loaded Suzie into the car and took her to the vet to be put down.
(sallyrae, Mon 10 Dec 2007, 0:22, 5 replies)

"Suits me" said the cat
We inherited a cat from one of hubby's very wealthy clients, a monster black and white longhair, Basil. He had lovely manners, no front claws, kept himself clean, didn't wander or fuck the stuffed animals, so I asked what was wrong with him that they gave him away:

He should have been named "Nimrod, the mighty hunter". One day his squeamish owner met him coming down the stairs with a wee black mouse struggling in his mouth. Owner was horrified. "Basil, no no! Bad kitty, bad! Drop that mousie right now. Drop it, drop it, I say!"

Basil shrugged, gave him a look as if to say, "It's your funeral, pal." and spat out 'mouse'. The offending sodden mouthful flew at supersonic speeds straight into Owner's face, sending him ass over teakettle down the stairs, screaming for his wife to come and do something about the rabid bat attacking him.

Basil had managed to nab a bat out of mid-air without benefit of claws! Not too shabby, eh? After that, he was deemed a danger and was cruelly given to our household to exist on cheap generic catfood, 99p store toys and hugs instead of the rich and cosseted lifestyle to which he had become accustomed. Poor thing.

Oh, and he didn't match the 3,000 square feet of 100 % wool, hand knotted organically dyed grey Berber carpet, either.*



*In fairness, it was more his barfed up hairballs didn't match the carpeting. He was pretty pukey.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 23:33, 2 replies)

Bimbo and the bowl.
This story concerns two friends of my parents; Nick and Jill.

Nick is a good humoured guy of great patience. Jill is extremely houseproud and tends to get uptight about things like interior decoration. They live in a large Victorian sandstone house that they have renovated over the last two decades.

They had a cat called Bimbo. Bimbo was a lovely cat; a ginger female that had been brought up with their two children, and had never posed any problems.

Then they redid their kitchen. Black tiles; granite surfaces; anything that could be lifted had to be chrome. To accommodate Bimbo, they installed a catflap that was activated by a magnet on her collar. The whole thing looked fantastic- like something out of a catalogue. They were understandably chuffed with their efforts.

The cat, on the other hand, seemed less than pleased. They would put food in her bowl and come back to find it spread across the tiles. It happened every time they fed her- she would seemingly shun her food and throw it across the kitchen, covering the cupboards and floors.

Jill was not pleased. Her new kitchen was being violated several times a week. She became convinced that Bimbo was succumbing to old age- she was around 16 at this point- and started to talk about having her put down. Nick convinced her not to act so rashly; they could train the cat out of her behaviour.

Around a week later (with no change in moggy behaviour) they were sitting in their living room. The door was open.

Nick spotted a ginger blur.

"Jesus, I've just seen the cat run by with its bowl under its chin!"

Jill was understandably skeptical, but followed him out to the hall. There they found Bimbo and her beautiful chrome bowl surrounded by cat food.

Nick picked her up with one hand, and picked up her bowl in the other. He spoke to her in the exasperated tone familiar to anyone who has ever tried to train a cat.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he said, waving the bowl close to the cat's face. "You're making such a mes..."

At that point the chrome bowl pulled itself to the catflap magnet on Bimbo's collar. The cat let out a helpless 'miaow'.

The poor thing had been starving over the previous fortnight- every time she'd tried to eat, her bowl had stuck to her collar and she'd panicked.

Bimbo lived to around 19 and died of natural causes. She ate the rest of her meals from a ceramic bowl.
(Generator cannot be named for legal reasons, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 22:21, 11 replies)

He didn't just say it on QI...
...he's said it on pretty much everything he's ever been in. Ever.
( Lollylegs lite, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 21:57, Reply)

Stupid cats
I used to get just the end of the vacuum and make a uuurm noise while chasing the cat. Fooled the cat every time.
(goonbreath, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 21:53, Reply)

The poor car
Had a kitten, was always pooing like a tube of toothpaste with the lid off, but brown. Once it got covered in it, I decided to bath it. The noise coming out of its face was awesome, sounded like Cilla Black. Anyway, when it come to drying it, it clawed my chest area which my instant reaction was Fuck Off and threw it into the bath, where blood trickled out of its mouth and its head was bent backwards. I thought I had destroyed it. Turns out it was fine until I found it flat outside the house a few weeks later. Isn't it strange how cats look like they are smiling when they start to rot around their face when dead.
(goonbreath, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 21:50, 2 replies)

Children should not be allowed pets
When I was a wee lass of about eight, my mother and father gave in to my pesterings for a gerbil. They got me two, to be precise - lovely cute little things, which I named Tom and Jerry.

Although I love animals more than anything, and did when I was a child too, I was also unavoidably a little shit. Apart from never being bothered to clean them out (mother always did it when she found them festering in their own faeces yet again), but I would occasionally squeeze them just to see their eyes bulge out a bit.

After a few years of life, I accidentally snuffed little Jerry out one day, when I decided to let them both run around my bedroom so I could have fun catching them. My parents had banned me repeatedly from doing this but I rarely listened, because as I said, I was a proper shit.

I was using my trusted favourite method of catching them, involving "trapping" them under a tin bowl my mum used for cooking. Unfortunately I mis-judged where little Jerry was running, and ended up slamming the rim of the bowl on top of his back. Cue absolute horror as I looked upon my beloved gerbil bent completely in half. Even more amazing than that he actually remained alive long enough to shoot behind the bookcase where he died, and my father sadly informed me that Jerry was no more. I told him that a book fell on him and broke his back - although on confessing what really happened a few years ago my parents said they knew I was lying anyway.

Little Tom died when my friend dropped him and broke all his ribs.

Do not give your children pets until they're in their teens. Kids are just awful.
(posage As I turned the corner I felt muscular and compact, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 21:43, 1 reply)

melon 1, cat nil.
as i've said before, i used to live in a high-rise block. many fun things can be done at the top of one of these blocks, including giving stationary objects flying lessons out of the 13th floor window.
now, as i've also mentioned, there's a large colony of feral cats living behind said block.
one day, after leaving it in my fridge until it grew fur, i decided(along with a fellow b3tan) to give a watermelon its chance to imitate the birds. we lugged it up to the 13th floor, opened the window and thus began the maiden flight of the airship cantaloupe.
straight down, of course.
just as we let go of the melon, we spotted the cat. it was walking across the pavement, right towards the melon's point of impact.
"it's going to hit the cat!" said i.
"let me see!" says he.
fortunately, the melon hit the ground 3 feet away from the cat.
unfortunately, the large piece that broke off on impact shot straight at the cat, hitting it so hard, it almost flipped over.
cruel? maybe. funny? hell, yeah!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 21:25, Reply)

cat flap
my older brother had two cats, a very bright but very mental siamese (called sid) and a very dim rescue cat (lily).

as he and his wife were out all day, they decided to get one of those cat flaps where your own cat has a magnet that the flap open, but other marauding cats get stuck outside. my brother decided, in his infinite lack of wisdom, to fashion his own.

lily was fine, but he did something wrong with sid. time after time, he would come home to find sid dragging a wire coathanger or ten around with him and yowling in outrage. figuring it served him right for getting in the wardrobes, my brother would leave him to it, earning himself a bollocking when his wife got home.

but his favourite thing was when sid and lily got stuck together. this really pissed both of them off, and my brother would come home to find one monster double headed cat, spitting with rage and running in circles.

on a more serious animal cruelty note, i just found out my ex the bedshitter managed to get engaged this weekend, to his german bitch. if marrying him isn't gratuitous cruelty, i don't know what is. now i'm going to get very very drunk if anyone wants to join me.....
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 21:04, 3 replies)

Frog vs Pump
I keep koi, and have a device called a skimmer which takes the top layer of the water into a pump,then a filter and then returns it to the pond. This keeps the surface clean - same reason a swimming pool has the overflow bit around the edge.
One day I removed the basket which collects leaves etc, and walked down the garden and hosed the basket out, replaced it moments later and walked away. Being lazy i left it running without a basket for the short time it took, as i couldn't be arsed to walk around the pond to turn it off.
A few minutes later i realised the skimmer wasn't pulling water as it should, and investigated. I screamed like a girl when i saw the problem.
Turns out those few moments was all it took for a frog to jump into the pond, be sucked into the skimmer and have a one-sided fight with a pump capable of moving 2500 gallons per hour.

Be warned - its not pretty, and took ages to get out with some long nosed pliers.
KERMIT SUICIDE
(turtles head is touching cloth poked a dwarf on the forehead at, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 20:57, Reply)

Is cow tipping an urban myth, or does it actually work?
?
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Sun 9 Dec 2007, 19:30, 5 replies)

I have lost count of the times
I have been walking my dog in the dark, then hear a 'crunch', my foot shoots about 3 foot in any direction and i end up either on my arse or headbutting the pavement.

Snail shells give them very little protection against a 15 stone bloke, but it is surprising how far their bodies will smear underfoot.
(turtles head is touching cloth poked a dwarf on the forehead at, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 19:29, Reply)

i found a dead fox
in the back of my car once. My mate had found it, run over in the countryside, and took it to the police, (for some reason).
They told him to chuck it in a bin, or take it to the tip; he said the back of my estate was the closest thing to a nearby tip. I actually drove round with it for a while, before he told me; it was stiff as a board, and could be picked up by it's tail, and brandished in an amusing manner.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Sun 9 Dec 2007, 19:21, Reply)

I'm not proud of any of these...
...but I'm something of a champion animal-hunter with my car. So far I've run over:

A few rabbits
A pheasant
A fox
A badger
A deer

Before anyone lights the burning cross and tries to run me out of the country, I'd like to point out that all were unavoidable (and not because I drive too fast), and that I felt terrible after each one.

And yes, I did report them to the correct authorities each time.

O_o
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 18:49, 3 replies)

I put an envelope,
Onto my cat. Results:
www.b3ta.com/links/125251

Yeah. showed her for waking me up at 4 am.
( [DTMX] Fishing hook, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 17:24, 1 reply)

Inky
I have an adorable, long-suffering cat. Jet black, at the tender age of 4 I decided that Inky was an appropriate name for her.

Her first near death experience was when my older brother decided that kittens needed baths. Having finished in the tub himself, he threw her in. The rest of the household was made aware of his plans only by a screeching, warbled meow as a small ball of bubbles threw itself down the stairs. After a few hours of cuddling she seemed okay again.

About 2 years later I was holding her in the kitchen, spinning myself around and around as fast as possible when, giddy with dizziness, I spinned her head face first into the kitchen door frame. I'd never seen anything, let alone my beloved kitty cat, bleed out of its eyes, nose, mouth and ears before. This took about a good weeks worth of cuddling to cure.

The kitchen door decided to strike back at Inky, about another 10 years later. As everyone knows, it's not just Indiana Jones who takes pleasure from diving through fast-closing doorways. Sadly, on this occasion my dad didn't see poor little Inky running through as he slammed the door; the tip of her tail was pinned between door and its frame. What I remember about this was that she was silent. It was only a stretch of skin and fur, about 3 inches long wedged in the door way that suggested anything was wrong; compounded by the fact that the tip of my cats tail was now only very bloody bone. Cue another trip to the vets, and the bloody stump being sawn off.

This isn't even the worst injury she's had, though. About 2 years ago my parents decided to have an extension built. Inky was at this time about 13 or 14; quite old for a kitty. All the noise and confusion seemed to somehow tip her over the edge. She started shunning spending time with us. Then we noticed that her under-belly was going bald. Eventually she would sit around the house, not eating or drinking. Again, we took her to the vets.

The vet had to file down her teeth, and prescribe a certain dietary food. Furthermore, he explained her baldness was due to over-grooming. They couldn't be certain of the reasons for this, but suggested it was almost definitely psychosomatic. We'd finally turned our beloved cat insane.

It's okay, though, she's still going strong and now my dead is essentially medically retired they keep each other company all day long. In many ways, they've never gotten on so well as they do now, and she's never seemed so happy. She still over-grooms, though.
(Simanenyee (killed to bits), Sun 9 Dec 2007, 17:22, Reply)

not really accidental, but
the day my family discovered the hilarity of giving the dog and cat pop rocks and carbonated water was a fine day indeed.
(deilbfe6ogcshnbcryjh, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 17:16, Reply)

I killed a Guinea Pig
I used to have a Saturday job in a Pet Shop, we would look after peoples pets when they where on holiday.

The first hour of the day was cleaning cages, feeding the animals in the back of the shop. I came in one day and the owners where off and we where short staffed, so we had to get through it pretty quickly.

I got the hutches to do, there was a new guinea pig in, so he was moved to the spare cage and the old bedding rolled up in the newspaper used to line the bottom.

Thought nothing more of it unil I got in the following week to be told that there was actually 2. The owner found it in the bin rolled up in a newspaper coffin.

Ooops
(regthing Scouting for boys, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 17:08, Reply)

We seriously contemplated calling our dog 'Aids'.
Just imagine the fun that would have followed,

"Do you have Aids?"
"No, Dad did have Aids but then he gave it to Mum."

"Where has Aids gone?"

"Oooh dear, Aids is a bit dirty . . . "


In the end we called the dog 'Dusty' instead.
( Fluffy elephants, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 16:38, Reply)

The saga of Fidgety.
(This may turn into a bit of an epic - be warned.)

When I turned 9, I was given a pet of my choice as a present.
We (mother & I) went down to the pet shop and browsed the rabbits.
"What about one of these?" asked my mum, pointing at some small, adorable ball of fluff.
"Mmmm, maybe..."
But I had already decided on something ultimately more... colossal.
At the back, in a single cage on the floor, were two of the biggest rabbits I had ever seen.
Both were albino, mini-lop eared dwarve something-or-others.
I had found - in the back of a small, family owned pet store - irony, sarcam and laziness personified in animal form. Perfik.
"Arrrrr" said the owner (for clarification, he was from the country and not a pirate.) "Those thar might be a bet too big fer you lad."
"NO!" Spake I, "Irony bunny or nothing!"
"They don't do maach, honestly, Oi av to check on em ev'ry half our or so ter see if they're still breathan"

Unbelievable! This country bastard was ruining my birthday! Eyes going misty, bottom lip trembling I turned to this Wiltshire hick and looked in square in his good eye...

5 minutes later I was walking quite happily back to the car with one half of the brothers Sloth.
Now came the tricky part - naming.
'Whitey' seemed unoriginal and racist.
'Snowy' was unimaginative and boring.
'Thumper' was just...ew.
This was turning out to be tougher than I'd originally assumed until...

FIDGETY!
I hearby pronounce you in the name of Christ, FIDGETY!
Or 'Fidge' for short.
The irony seemed to be lost on most people, but it didn't matter because he had an original name and he was mine!YAYS!

Within a week Fidge had lodgings in the store room next to the PS1.
We had a strange relationship, Fidge and I.
I fed him, gave him water, got my mum to clean him.
He sat there in his hutch, keeping me company and watching me play Duke Nukem 3D or whatever I had on.
It was wonderful, Fidge loved the violence and bloodshed and I loved his laidback company.
This was co-existent bliss...

But alas, it was not meant to be...

Fidge had a hutch outside for the summer... his summer home if you will... this soon became his permanent home.
I still saw him in the mornings and evenings and when it was nice out, but it wasn't the same.
As my Dad's illness got worse (oh yes, he was very ill) my mum found less time to clean him out and I just simply made a balls up of it.
So Fidge was sat in abject squalor for a few months.
He changed, from being laid-back and content, he just became depressed.
So we gave him a grand clean out and built him a run out on the grass with the plan of moving it around to new grass and letting his shit pile fertilise the lawn.
He seemed happier for a bit, but then we just kept putting off moving.
He became a mess, being a pretty long furred rabbit, things stuck to him - predominantly, shit.
He was cleaned one day, only to be found with the mother of all 'dingleberries' stuck to his hind quarters.
We cut it off and gave him a shower and moved the run.
But sadly, history repeated itself and Fidge ended up in the same conditions in the summer of '04.
I went out to feed him his lettuce one morning and saw that he didn't spurt from his hutch like normal for breakfast (he loved his food).
I opened the roof and was sat in the corner looking quite off.
"Yalright?" I asked, stroking his fur, he was shaking.
"Maybe a fox or something spooked him last night" I reasoned.
I informed my mum of this reasoning and trotted off to school, thinking nothing more of it.
Tea time came and I went and fed him, only his breakfast was still there untouched.
I opened the lid and he was still there shaking in the corner.
I went back in and told the mother that it looked like Fidge was sick and gave my reasons.
These were promptly overlooked in light of the fact that the Antiques Roadshow was on.
Same procedure the next day and the day after.
Eventually, on the week end I got mum out to have a look. She lifted him up "ooh, he feels lighter" and something white & wriggly dropped off.
"Is that a maggot?" I asked my mum.
"Oh no" she muttured before sprinting inside with him.
I found her washing him in the shower only the water was pink. (Oh no)
She lifted him up by his front paws, and I saw amongst the bloody, matted fur - his hind quarters.

Writhing in maggots.

To cut a very long story down to a long story, Fidge had contracted blowfly.
Basically, due to not cleaning him much, a fly had landed on his shit covered rear and laid it's eggs, which then just started eating everything in site.

He had been like that for half a week.
We took him to the vet and had him put down the same way.
What a horrible way to go.

I hate myself for what happened to Fidge.
There's no good excuse for it.

So to all rabbit owners - especially long haired ones - clean the regularly.

Length? Longer than a long longcat.

Apologies for the depressing nature and the massive length.
(Good Looking Deity Grew a magnificent beard on, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 16:33, 1 reply)

When I was a young 'un
I had a fondness for target shooting, with my trusty little air rifle. My Dad fostered this enthusiasm, reasoning that it was probably more healthy than running around town centres with BB guns. My usual routine would be to go into my garden with a chair or mat, and take shots into a target mounted inside my pellet catcher. However, on one occasion, upon returning from school, my Dad walked up to me with a gleeful expression on his face and bade me come into the garden.

There, on a brick, against the backdrop of the brick wall of our shed, were 3 slugs. On the floor some distance away was my air rifle. My face contorted into the same gleeful expression.

I don't know if you've ever seen what an air rifle does to a snail, but basically, the only noticeable remnants of these garden pests were a few small spray marks on the brick wall.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 15:39, Reply)

Animal cruelty?
We had a dog called cat!
(Laxly, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 14:13, Reply)

I have a Dog named Kimba
She's a long haired Alsation, and she's beautiful to look at, but sometimes she's just completely daft.

Anyway, She really likes to eat those doggy choclate things, the ones that don't kill them and all that, well, I was in my room with maltesers, I was throwing them up in the air and catching them in my mouth, cue dog walking in and looking at me expecantly.

So I thought to myself, make the dog sad and eat the chocolate, or poison her, I chose the first one, and decided to use my new skill of catching the chocolates, so I threw it up in the air and caught it in my mouth, the dog jumped as well, and headbutted me in the jaw (it did hurt somewhat) so I kinda kicked her and she went flying out of the room.

She didn't look at me or acknowledge me for a few days, but she forgave me in the end.

I also have cats, and this morning I watched one run into my bedroom at full speed, I almost pissed myself.

Length: it was about a foot and a half, but after the crash he kinda shrunk a bit.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Sun 9 Dec 2007, 14:00, Reply)