Kittens
For the last few months i've desperately wanted a kitten.
Every time my mum writes out a shopping list I sneakily add the above to it but as yet have had no luck.

She says it's because we live on a busy road. I think it's because I want to call the kitten Toasterface.
Apparently that counts as abuse.
( Lollylegs lite, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:42, 15 replies)

My Cat
Wanted feeding one morning so was doing that walk-around-and-around-your-legs-while-meoowing thing that they do.

At the top of the stairs.

So I (genuinely accidentally) booted her down the stairs. She hit the front door. She didn't land on her feet :( Sorry puss.
( ogwen69 has returned from Reddit, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:40, Reply)

Is it cruel if the animal enjoys it?
How to buy a few minutes of peace and quiet from my dog Sophie.

1. Get an English toffee
2. Chew it until it's soft
3. Take it out of your mouth and...
4...jam it firmly behind Sophie's front teeth

Doesn't work on children so well.
(Thomas_The_Spankengine, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:39, 2 replies)

First post! Woo and yay!!
So, no matter how "herbally enhanced" you are, and no matter how convinced you are, that if she would only TRY IT, she'd LOVE IT, cats do NOT like the taste of Coke. (Not even if you sort of, "push" on the back of her head, when she leans over to investigate the strange dark, fizzy liquid that's filling her water dish.)



eh... not that I'm speaking from personal experience... *ahem*
(Jeepgun, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:38, 2 replies)

I killed Nemo!
Well, if Nemo had been around in 1990! I was 10 years old and on hols with my dad and my sister, going back to my roots in Mauritius.

One day Dad decided that he would charter a shitty little boat out to the reef so that we could catch fish and barbeque them on the beach... yummers.

ANYWAY, we get in said floating shitmobile and head out to reef. Dad and pal catch lots of fishies, and yours truly feels sick as a fucking dog. What made it worse is that when they caught the fish they did not put them in a bucket or anything, oh no... they simply pulled them off the hooks and dropped them into the boat. So, I was seasick, boat bobbing about more than Jenna Jameson on a cock, and loads of weirdly coloured fish flapping about my feet.

I begged to go back to shore.

We get back to the beach and I pass out for a couple of hours. When I wake up I feel fab and I can see that Dad had put the fish in a big bucket of water. YAY! I can have a pet! I grabbed one of the tropical little fuckers and put it in a plastic bowl filled with water. I sat it next to me and watched it intently... I quickly got bored.

BRAINWAVE... I'll feed it! I grabbed some grass, and a twig from the carpark. I sit down and wrapping a blade of the good old green stuff around the twig, I shove it into the fish's gob. Wow, fishy eats! I waited and within ten seconds the fish exhales the grass like a reverse vacuum cleaner. Hehe, COOL. I do it again... and again... and again... and again... you get the picture. I just wanted to feed him. I had no idea what a hungry fish looked like!

Poor fucker must have thought he was at some sort of aquatic Auschwitz. He died after about an hour at my torturous hands. I cried.

But, he tasted good on a bed of cous cous.
(LadyTramp79 Left a bit, right a bit..., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:38, Reply)

My brother
When he was 3 or 4, he felt really sorry for earthworms. They had to live in the muddy garden, getting all cold and wet, while he had the luxury of a house.

So he gathered as many as he could, put them in a shoebox lined with old rags, and put them in the airing cupboard to get warm again.

When he went to look to see if they were any happier yet, they'd dried out.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:36, 2 replies)

When i was ten, I got a golden retriever
Greatest dog ever he is, really. I always miss him when I'm at uni.

Anyway every day when i got back from school I'd take my bike and we'd go to the park together, it was about a mile away. I'd have him on the right side but still on the lead because it was a road. Defying the laws of physics, we would go at warp speed with him sprinting on the side until we got to the park. Of course, this meant that he couldnt wee or poo and he often tried to murder me by stopping suddenly and sniffing about, something which I got quite cross about.

On one such day, we were zooming along the pavement when I hear a loud DONG, look down and it seems that we'd passed rather close to a lamppost. On my right side. And he hadn't been able to avoid it. He was sneezing for ages, obviously having smashed into it face first.

He's still great, if a little mental. I may have caused permanent damage.
( morrybyte made a subtle namechange at, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:35, Reply)

Digital Extermination Squad
A guy who used to work here called Terry pissed himself laughing telling me about this in the office;

There was a time in work where we'd been "volunteered" (ie forced at gunpoint) to support Digital Television problems with customers. None of us really knew what we were doing at first, but slowly started to get to grips with certain parts of the system and service. Terry was busy fixing these and gets the following call;

"...well my TV box stopped working around the time in which my dog was chewing the coaxal and power wires behind the box."
Terry rightfully says "Ah, because that is damage caused by the dog then it's likely that our engineers will charge you for fixing that, as it is external damage to the equipment."
The customer gives a verbal nod of agreement, and Terry starts creating a job for the engineer. As he's doing this, Terry asks "Oh by the way, how's the dog sir?"
"He's dead thanks."
"Ahh......"
Digital Dog killing ahoy :D
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:33, Reply)

sootica scrubs up
my wee brother had a black kitten, sootica, that had the unfortunate habit of sleeping in the laundry basket. it eventually got round to doing it when my mother had seperated the colours leaving the blacks in there.

she subsquently loaded the basket and drowned sootica. when i got home from school my mother was in hysterics after finding the lifeless soggy feline in amongst my dads work socks. she made me promise to never tell my bro and we would all stick to the line that 'it must have ran away'.

that was 17 years ago.

i told him at a party last summer when i'd had a few too many. he took it well. by phoning my mum out her bed at 4 in the morning while off his chops and calling her 'a fucking lying murderer.'
(Raol Duke, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:25, 3 replies)

I didn't consider cruelty until recently, to me it was just playing.
As a child I used to always play with little spiders. They would always get confused and unable to escape from a triangle of index, middle finger and the opposite index. They'd eventually climb onto my fingers.

I would then hold a palm underneath them to trick them into thinking they were close to the ground. They'd spin their way down and I'd start winding them back up with my two indexes as they spun down and down. Eventually they realise it's not working and climb back up, and I put my palm underneath them again.

It'd go on for at least ten minutes where I suspect they run out of web. Poor fuckers. Wait, is that Spiderman I see outsi--
(AshTeamRacing, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:22, 2 replies)

oh the memories
apart from the usual kids being bastards and experimenting on slugs with salt etc, i was playing with a small (and even cute) frog. I liked it and did not intend to do it any harm... I knew it would not be welcome in my home so i took the responsibility to find it a new one. Passing a phone box i investigate inside. Pushing up the little door to the compartment where you get your change from i realise that its the perfect size to make a snug room for the little fella. Perfect, what more could he possibly want!! I slip him into he new luxury apartment, make shore he is safely tucked away then trundle off home feeling proud to of helped the little dude out.
Needless to say i forgot all about my kind deed, but often think what happen to a) the frog and b) the person who used the phone next.
(kurious orange, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:20, Reply)

According to me parents...
..when I was 3, we had a cat. I've never seen a photo of it and don't remember it though;I reckon my parents are a pair of bullshitters. Apparently they took her up me grans, where I promtly wanted to wash the cat as it had dirt on it. By flushing it in the toilet. The cat promptly legged it, never to return.

I still reckon my parents are lying about this, they've never liked cats.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:18, Reply)

When I was a kid I didn't know that goldfish like to jump out of their tank
So one morning I came downstairs and wandered into the lounge to feed the fish. Looking into the (lidless) tank, I rubbed my bleary eyes and tried to refocus, knowing that the fish although I couldn't see it must be in there somewhere.

Oh no, it wasn't. As I discovered when I turned round and trod on it.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:18, Reply)

Dirty Pussy... (sadly, it's not what you think...)
Way back when, in the late 1980’s/early 1990’s, I spent 9 years growing up in the countryside. The benefit of having a family that was, at that time, almost exclusively involved in farming meant that I had access to animals on a regular basis.

And one of these animals was our house cat, going by the name of Topsy. Topsy, bless her, was one of the cutest little cats that you ever did meet. Sleek black fur she had, with white paws and a little pink nose, with ears that sat up in neat triangles like the Egyptian cats of old. She was also a lunatic.

Her escapades ranged from attacking anything within range with her needle like claws whenever there was anything that was remotely noisy or threatening within 100 square miles, to pissing in the laundry basket, to disemboweling mice on the kitchen floor.

One day, Mum and I arrived home from the school run (I suppose I was about 13, still wide-eyed and at wonder with the world). I walked upstairs, got changed in to my civvies, and went in to Mum’s room to get a tissue to blow my nose on.

I was met, dear friends, with a scene of horror. The whole of my Mum’s bed was covered in poo. Smelly, mousey, slippery cat poo. Everywhere. Even on the pillows. It was at this point my mother walked in to the room.

“What the… What the FAAAAAAAAAARRRK?” she screamed, banshee like.

Dreamily, the cat rolled over, opened its eyes, and stretched. It arched its back and got to its feet and looked at Mum, as if to say “oh, hello! Look what I made for you!”

My mother, not mollified by this apparent gift of catty diarrhea, took a course of action. She grabbed moggy by the scruff of the neck, rubbed its face in the poo, strode over to the window (shitty pussy in hand… and by that I mean the cat, not my Mum’s, er, thingy), opened it, and threw it out. We were upstairs at the time.

Thankfully there was a sloped roof under the window. The image of a cat with its own poo dripping from its whiskers fighting frantically to gain a purchase on the roof tiles before catching on to the guttering and trying to pull itself up before dropping off (like some kind of grotesque feline Gandalf) is one that will never leave me.

The cat did not return to our house for a week.

Unfortunately, the behaviour our cat exhibited (it pooed in my bed too) was not just because it was mischevious. It turned out it had a brain tumour, and this was affecting its bowel control. Sadly, we had to have her put down soon after.

Oh. Not so much a story regarding accidental cruelty as accidental loss of bowel control. But it’s the best I have!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:15, 4 replies)

Stupid dog
I have a really stupid Greyhound called Mikey.
All Greyhounds are stupid you say! they chase a stuffed rabit! no this one is really stupid. he's been rescued by the RSPCA twice, he can't run more than 30 yards, and because he got hit by a car he can't even cock his leg, so when he goes for a leak he pisses all over his front legs. Eurgh
one time we were on holiday. I was walking towards the caravan and saw dog laying on grass outside. 20 yards away I call "Mikey, here boy", at which he gets up and runs full pelt towars me. It is at this point I notice the rope tied round his neck attached to the caravan. It's ten yards long. the rope goes taut, Mikey does a back flip, lands upside down on his back, then gets up, thinking I've just done something to him he tries to run the other way. He gets 10 yards...
(The Hooded Bean is in my pants Can't resist a Fanny/Tranny Joke, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:14, 1 reply)

Funeral for a friend
Back at the house, after my aunt's funeral, the conversation turned poignantly to death. Having exhausted tales of friends and relatives dying the conversation somehow shifted to pets.

"I still remember when my goldfish died" said my sister, sadly. "But it was sent into the sea, a nice fitting end".

At this point my father and I started pissing ourselves laughing and my mother and sister looked increasingly puzzled. As my sister continued her tale of fishy grief our howls of mirth grew stronger until I could barely speak.

"What. Is. So. FUNNY?" demanded my sis at last.

And so I told her. Y'see the morning of its demise she awoke to find Frank the goldfish (name changed to protect its identity) floating near - but not on - the surface of the water. After my mum's attempts to reassure her that it was just sleeping she painfully realised it was probably on the way out.

"When the cat was ill we rubbed brandy on its mouth to revive it" remarked my mum in a particularly dippy misunderstanding of species variation.

My sister ran to the drinks cupboard, but alas we had no brandy due to my father's heart condition, so instead she returned with a bottle of vodka and spent the next ten minutes trying to rub Smirnoff round the mouth of a half-dead goldfish. This unsurprisingly did not work and my mum made her go to school with promises that we'd do our best to revive Frank while she was gone.

My mum phoned the nearest Animal Magic pet shop hoping for advice.

"Buy a new fish and pretend it's the old one so when your daughter comes home the fish is all better," said the inappropriately-named Animal Magic man.

"She's seventeen years old. She'll notice," replied my mum.

My dad's friend arrived at lunch time, took one look at the fish and pronounced it dead. We figured he was a plumber so he'd know. He ceremoniously flushed dead Frank down the toilet and wrote my sister a note on behalf of the fish saying "Dear L, I had a lovely life and loved being your goldfish. I have gone back to the sea now, love Frank."

My sister returned from school and spent the next two weeks grieving over the loss of her beloved watery friend and confidant. She was slightly mollified by the note and the idea of a fitting burial at sea...

...until my aunt's funeral we told her the truth of what happened and she refused to speak to us for two weeks. Nevermind the fact that she tried to get her pet drunk in the name of medical science, apparently we were cruel for flushing a dead goldfish down the toilet. Go figure.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:14, 5 replies)

Cats and laminate wood flooring
I live in a 3 storey house. My old cat (Fluffy) used to entertain herself by running from the bottom of the first set of stairs up to the top of the 2nd set and back down again all the way around the 180 degree turn by the front door and in to the kitchen. For some reason she always did this first thing in the morning, every day. I slept on the top floor and regularly would be woken up at the weekends by the cat doing her morning exercises.

Now, the time came when the parents decided to redecorate the hall and kitchen, and one of the changes was the replacement of the tatty carpet with some shiny laminate wood floor.

And so it came to pass that on the Monday morning while I was eating my breakfast in the kitchen that I heard the tell-tale thumping noise of fluffy the cat sprinting up to the top floor and preparing for a high speed descent.

I could've warned her.

I decided the comedy value outweighed the warm feeling though.

Fluffy came bounding down the stairs at full pelt, came to the slingshot round the bottom of the bannister and suddenly found her claws useless against the might of ikea's finest flooring. The normally graceful and impressive sight of the cat turning faster than any plane or car could dream of instead became a mass of fur and loose legs to a desperate scratching noise soundtrack. Which came to a very abrupt end after just a fraction of a second as the cat went head-first in to the skirting board by the door.

The look of confusion on her face was priceless. She got up, and very gingerly walked in to the living room to have a nice lie down by the radiator.
(Joey[kins], Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:09, 1 reply)

I used to know an odd couple…

They were called Malcolm & Annie. They were that type of wanker folk who listed everything and had rules for everything. You know the kind

They collected tools and hardware…and labelled them accordingly: Hammer A, Hammer B and so on.

They had 5 Axes! (the latest and newest one was apparently 'the best' FFS!)

You weren’t allowed to touch anything of theirs…let alone their pets (That was against their ‘Rule Q’ – potential violation of possessions.)

One day I’d had enough –I found their beloved dog and whacked it’s bastard teeth out using their favourite axe.

‘I bet you haven’t got a rule for that’ I said, with the weapon in my bloodstained hands

‘On the contrary’, they said

It’s a definite case of:

Axe ‘E’ Dental Annie-Malc rule ‘T’


…

What?

…


(I’m sorry…I don’t know why I bother either)
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:05, 12 replies)

Not me but the missus
We both went into a nice Wiltshire pub for Sunday lunch, and were shown down the steps to the separate dining area.
Now I had spotted the landlords cat at the bottom of the steps, licking its spuds, however the missus hadn't.
As I managed to get the words of "Look out for the..." the inevitable happened. The missus managed to land foot first on the poor creatures Crown Jewels. There was a rather loud squeal and the sight of a large black and white cat moving a lot quicker than it had in ages.
Throughout lunch, if looks could kill, we'd have been mice
(Sir Tainley Barking Ezekiel 23:20, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 16:03, Reply)

Both of my doggies this time....
Me and the wife had let them both off the lead in the playing field behind our house. Now normally inside the house, our scottie (angus) was king of the castle. With his tiny legs he could get upto speed quicker and never had to slow down for any of the corners while chasing our bigger dog jerry (collie x lurcher). I've never seen such a look of desperation in the eyes of a scottie before he tried to keep up with jerry as he went full pelt in a wide circle around the field.

Jerry even started to take the piss by running at angus then jumping over him at the last minute.

Poor wee little angus was knackered after a few minutes, but jerry just kept going and going.

I swear he was whispering "have that you little ankle chewing bastard" everytime he went past.
(Darkpie 3.243F6A8885A308D31319, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:58, 1 reply)

Does anyone know...
In which book the author claims to have thrown a kitten/puppy from a ferry into the sea, just "to see what happened"? Only for them to feel guilty about it for the rest of their life...

Or am I imagining this?!
(gin'll fix it, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:58, 10 replies)

My very first hamster
When I was little both my brothers had hamsters as pets, and as I started to grow up I wanted my own one, to call Hamlet.

Eventually I got my Hamlet and he was lovely.
I was probably about 7 at this time, and loved nothing more than to pick him up and cuddle him from time to time, though he probably hated nothing more.

Anyway, hamsters are known to...run about a bit, y'know...and as I was only small, my instinct told me to hold him tighter as he tried to escape. Eventually I must have held him so tight that poor Hammies eye popped out of it's socket.

He had it stitched up and was alright though, he lived for another three years, the longest any hamster of ours has lived, eventually though his fur began to turn grey (who knew that happened to hamsters too!?) and he broke his little leg being pulled out his cage to he had to be put down.
( Lollylegs lite, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:49, 3 replies)

Kevin and the cooking fat
Many moons ago, I worked with a bloke called Kevin. Kevin was a big guy, with a dry sense of humour (working on the overpayments section at the DSS, he needed one). Kevin also had a cat, which he referred to as ‘the cooking fat’.

Kevin didn’t like cats much. However, he was the first to admit that he wouldn’t do anything to intentionally harm one. And it did keep the mouse population down in the house (Kevin lived in the country with his family).

One day Kevin was fancying a brew, so he went into the kitchen to stick the kettle on. On hearing a hissing and spitting noise, he looked down to see the cooking fat looking back up at him, eyes bulging and teeth bared, and making an almighty racket. Every time he bent down to rub its whiskers and try to placate it, it made more noise and became more vicious. Enter his missus.

“What’s wrong with this bloody cat”? he asked. “I haven’t even done anything to the stupid animal and it’s going ballistic”.

At this point the cat was becoming incandescent with rage, trying desperately to claw at his leg, still spitting and hissing.

His missus looked down and saw the problem instantly.

“Kevin”, she said “you’re standing on the poor bastard’s tail”.

Oh. Kev sheepishly lifted his steel-toecap booted foot, and the cat scarpered off into a dark corner somewhere, probably stopping off along the way to shit in one of Kev’s shoes.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:45, Reply)

Feckin lyin' bitches
No identification will be made of the feline victim in this post.

Apparently the rest of my family love our old moggy as much as I do [awww...]. Until a few certain incidents occurred. They WERE, mostly, accidental happenings.

1: Our cat's nostrils were exposed at close range, by my ma, to orange peel and hair tonic - just 'to see what she'll do'. Poor thing went nuts, what, with super cat senses and that.

2: My moher and slag of a sister decided to inspect a burr or summat at the base of kitteh's tail, but on poking it a finger was hideously close to going somewhere awry and the reult was an annoyed "MRRRRRowww!" and a fine projectile eruption of 'arse gravy'.

3: long story short. Cat. 2 horrible women. "Let's see how moggles reacts" (not the cat's name). Lifted by all 4 legs as though ready to spit-roast. Result - 1 angry, confused kittin.

That's all they did to puss though. But: accidents or a conspiracy?
(Dan of the Crippled Nipples, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:44, Reply)

A menace to guppy kind
When I was about nine years old, after badgering my parents endlessly for a pet of some sort, I was finally allowed a little bowl filled with guppies. A bowl! Guppies! In my own room! I was, of course, extremely grown up, and fed them, changed their water and decorated their bowl with gusto.

One day, after adding a few extra features, pebbles and the like, I noticed that one of the fish was missing. It wasn't hiding in the pondweed. It wasn't behind a rock. I checked all around and it certainly hadn't jumped out of the bowl.

A mystery. I put it from my mind and turned my attention to the remaining fish.

That is until two weeks later, when I went to clean out the bowl. I overturned a large, brand-new shell that I'd put in there as a gift from the seaside, and up floated the rigid, staring corpse of the missing guppy. When I dropped the shell into the bowl, I'd trapped it in the hollow, leaving it to die, trapped in its watery grave.

Did it die of starvation or drowning? I'll never know. What I do know, however, is that my scream echoed throughout the house. And I don't keep fish anymore.
(schnuff, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:44, 1 reply)

I deeply regret putting tape on my cats whiskers, and even more so for letting the tape fold back on itself. It took hours to remove, and Maxwell was not happy about it.


Wasn't the QOTW this was "revived" from about just plain animal cruelty?

like, ejecting hamsters from cardboard tubes, and shit.

sorry.
( AgentMuu hentai coordination, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:43, 1 reply)

Sex Toy Humiliation
I had a fabulous Jack Russell terrier called Patch as a teenager. I've posted about him before and thinking about him always brings a tear to my eye, so here's the cruellest thing La familie Jugular ever did to wee Patchie!

Picture the Scene:

Christmas day about 10 years ago.
Nan Jugular was coming over, so Ma Jugular suggested that my brother and I may want to put Patch's "toy" away.

The "toy" was a cuddly dalmation Ma Jugular had won at the fair and Patch had taken a liking to. The equivalent of a blow up doll as it were.

So it's Christmas, it's cosy and nice, we're comparing presents, Ma and Pa are cooking Christmas lunch together, my brother and I are trying to persuade Nan to have a go on "Wu Tang - Taste the Pain" when Patch yelps at the door.

I let him in....

He's drags the dalmation into the living room (Christ knows how he got it out of the cupboard, it was twice the size of him) and proceeds to give my Nan a live sex show.

Whilst frantically humping away, he looks directly at my nan as if to say: "Look at me, look what I'm doing, isn't it great?"

All three of us looked on in shock, at first. Then as the tears of hysterical laughter started dripping down my Nan's face, we all cracked up. It wasn't the motion as such but the look of triumph on the dogs face.

Ma Jugular ran in, bright red with embarrassment, to try and drag Patch off the dalmation, which she eventually managed, much to the chagrin of Patch and the helpless fits of laughter from the rest of us.

How cruel is it to laugh and point at someone's sexual performance? Just think...the whole family, and on Christmas day? Tres cruel I think.

EPILOGUE
Once he calmed down he did get some turkey, and this seemed to ease the humiliation, although he did look at us quizzically for the rest of the day. I don't think he understood why we giggled everytime he looked at us.

That dalmation was a dirty bitch though!
(Jugular, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:41, Reply)

Not strictly cruelty but very accidental
But anyway, my mate killed his girlfriend's cat!

He only fessed up to us about 4 years after it happened. She still doesn't know but they're getting married next year so I've a feeling it might slip out...

Apparently he (aged 16) had been round her house and found himself alone in her room. For some reason rather than doing the sensible male adolescent thing of rummaging through her underwear he was listening to the Arsenal match on the radio. As the match went on he got a bit overexcitied and started jumping up and down on the bed...which promptly broke crushing the unfortunate moggy innocently asleep underneath.

In a panic he then picked up the dead cat, snuck downstairs to the garage and put it behind the front wheel of her mum's car.

(Apologies for repost, this was originally for the Guilty Secrets QOTW))
(Milo Minderbinder, Thu 6 Dec 2007, 15:39, Reply)