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)

Well,
not unless you count your mum throwing a shit-covered cat with a tumour out of a window...
(Badgers wear Corpsepaint it's true, I've seen them..., Fri 7 Dec 2007, 21:17, closed)

I did say it was unfortunate...
But there we are. Maybe something was lost in translation. And a little off topic too...
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 7 Dec 2007, 22:31, closed)

I sincerly hope
your mum feels bad about this
(loki lie smith kiss me til I'm in a coma, Sat 8 Dec 2007, 1:55, closed)

Loki...
She does! I think it was something she did in the heat of the moment, and regretted it pretty much instantly.

Suffice it is to say that the cat was pampered both before and after the incident (in fact, afterwards even more so.)

Apologies to anyone whom I've offended with the story...
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Sat 8 Dec 2007, 21:20, closed)