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This is a question Pet Stories

When one of my cats was younger and a lot fatter, he came bowling in from the garden with an almighty crash. Looking slightly stunned, he'd arrived into the kitchen having ripped the cat flap from the door and was still wearing it as a cat-tutu. Did I mention he was quite fat?

In honour of Jake, a well loved cat, who died on Wednesday, tell us your pet stories and cheer us up.

(, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 9:15)
Pages: Latest, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, ... 1

This question is now closed.

My Cat, the Dog
In her later years my old cat, Mincemeat, decided to stop taking any shit from anyone or anything. Including Pointless, my poor, confused dog.
Here she is drinking from the loo...

(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 17:13, Reply)
I've been meaning to post for a while but haven't gotten round to it.
Ok, here goes.

At the moment I am the owner of 3 dogs - a scotty known as Al Pacino, a Mong(rel) known as Gordon and a border collie called Lucy.

I can't really say I own Lucy because we are only looking after her while my Aunt and Cousin are in the Dominican Republic but the other two are technically ours.

How we acquired Cino and Gordon has a rather lengthy tale behind it and I will try to explain as best I can.

My neighbours came to us one day and asked if it would be alright for us to look after two of their friends dogs, for said friends were going abroad to a particular country where dogs weren't treated all that well and the owners were afraid of what would happen to the dogs if they were taken along. So we ended up with them for what we thought would be 6 months. After the 6 months we had decided that if looking after animals was our thing we would get some of our own.
After looking after the (already stupidly named) dogs for about 3 months we received word that the original owners were getting divorced because the bloke had been cheating on the woman. We weren't sure if we would be allowed to keep the dogs or not but we kept our fingers crossed, as by this point we had grown quite attached to them.
After yet another couple of months we were informed that the bloke, still being in aforementioned foreign place, had been surrounded by Guerillas while he was driving and was shot and killed.
So, the chances for us keeping the dogs were getting lower, as presumably the woman was going to come back and get them.
She didn't. She told us that she was quite happy for us to keep the dogs because she wouldn't have time for them anymore after getting a new job/promotion/something similar.
2 years on we still have the dogs and everybodys happy. Except the bloke. He got shot.

Also, the neighbours that I mentioned earlier have recently brought a cat. They called it Mooshka. What The Fuck?
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 17:11, Reply)
Facehugger cat and Nazi cat
When I was little we had a timeshare cat called Pickles. She belonged to our neighbours, who were out all day, so we'd often see her at out back door wanting in. After a few months she got in, and didn't leave for 10 years (the neighbours paid for all her shots and so on, and we got the kitty cuddles and cuteness).

Anyway, towards the end of her long life, Pickles turned into a grouchy old lady (she never stopped purring though). She was climbing the stairs one morning as my mum was leaning over to open the curtains. Pickles wasn't impressed at having her space invaded and went Alien on my mum, leaping up, hissing and wrapping her arms around her neck, growling. The first thing I heard that morning was "YOU BITCH! YOU BITCH!" *hissss* *thud* as the cat jumped off and ran down the stairs.

Poor Pix, she died a few years ago and we've had some visiting cats since then but she was the best cat ever. She once got hold of some cotton wool that had come in a chocolate box from some friends in Florida, holding some shells in place that they'd sent over for me. It was better than catnip - the next thing we knew she was bouncing off the walls and looking at us all with those manic eyes any cat owner knows can only mean trouble.

Around the same time as Pickles was around, I made friends with a massive black and white tomcat. His name was, as it turned out, Breville. Here he is:

Breville was - and I hope still is - a ridiculously friendly cat; he would leap out of bushes everywhere with a "miaaaoooow!" and then rub against you till he fell over and you tickled his tummy. I never saw him go for anyone, either, unlike any other cat I've ever known (the most violent thing he did was destroy my catnip bush by lying on it). He was the original softie and I often got asked to cat-sit him while his owners were away.

However, he had one party piece that cracked me up every time he did it. If he was sitting on a car or table and he saw you, but couldn't be bothered to get down to be stroked, he'd lift his right leg right up in the air and stretch it out. It looked for all the world like he was Sieg Heiling you.

This would be less funny were his owners not German teachers, with lots of friends coming over from Germany from time to time.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 16:14, Reply)
My sister had a cat called Scarlett
She was the runt of the little and very abused when we got her from the rescue people, and subsequently became quite a pathetic cat. She couldn't catch birds - she used to have trouble with beetles - but I once saw her strutting proudly around the garden with a feather in her mouth that she had stolen from next door's cat's kill.

Oh, and I once caught her applying blusher - my sister had left it on the floor, so the cat applied it quite evenly to both sides of her face and ponced around the house like she was some kind of human or something.

She's dead now, of course.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 15:54, Reply)
My lazy cat..
His name is Aggy (well, originally Argus, but he was way too cute). He's lazy, dumb as feck - he regularly falls of places where he sleeps, my father ran over him (twice), once over his whole back end, and he's peachy, once over his tail, which ended up bald, but has re-grown fur now.

Anyway.. he's awesome, in many ways. Mainly because he's so dumb, it's cute.

(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 15:38, Reply)
When we got our old dog from Battersea, we'd not long before got a new cat that had decided to make itself comfortable in our house. Shocked and frightened at the entry of a new animal, it spent most of the first year trying to avoid the floor of the house, and developed methods to get around the entire house without touching it. The journey involved impressive leaps and climbs, and must have at least doubled the length of some of the cat's trips.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 15:18, Reply)
Loveable old Dirtbag...
Max was a shepherd/husky mix with a curly tail and tan fur, and was one of the sweetest old dogs you could ever meet. Due to his habit of rolling in mud, he was known as Dirtbag- and responded to it as well.

One morning he got loose outside as I was dressing my son for church. I heard a screech of tires, followed by a series of screaming yelps, and ran outside expecting to see him on the ground in a puddle of blood. Instead I found a slightly stunned older guy getting out of his pickup, and no dog.

I looked around. "Where is he?"

The guy pointed to the side of the house. "He went over there."

I went around the house and called for him, and he came loping across the lawn, tail between legs. Not limping, moving normally... I was puzzled. He didn't protest when I ran my hands over him- he seemed completely uninjured until I rubbed him on the head and he yelped.

I returned to the front after putting the dog inside, and found the guy still standing there. "He seems to be okay... what happened?"

"I was driving along and he ran into the side of my truck. Look, you can see his tracks."

Sure enough, there were four paw prints that looked like they skidded, and a puddle of piss between them.

Max never went near the road again- I think he was afraid that someone would hit him over the head with a truck again.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 15:14, Reply)
The Mitten Kitten
We've had many a cat pass through our house, all have been loved but unfortunately not all of them have had much luck when it comes to cars, neighbours or feline leukemia. Our first cat, Ottilie the all black Siamese, was with us since before I was born and sadly passed away when I was 11 leaving us all heartbroken.

She was a funny bugger though, with a couple of odd habits. She loved chasing my dad's climbing mittens, big grey wooly things that smelt a bit ripe. Throw them down the stairs and she'd belt after them, bringing them back like a feline retriever. The best bit was that she chewed them like a giant wool mouse. Not only was the evidence presented via the medium of holes in the mitts or us watching her eat them.

You could make out grey threads in her shite, occasionally holding them together in a macabre jobbie necklace. Which brings me on to Christmas. Not only did she love eating mittens, she also had a penchant for tinsel, which resulted in very festive turds and brought me and my sister immense joy, looking for christmas poos (waaaay before that charlatan Mr Hankey).

But my favourite incident happened when I was 9. Pa was tickling me on the floor in the lounge, accompanied by slightly-less-than-masculine shreiking and giggling. All of a sudden there's a flash of black and shouting and swearing from my dad. Ninja cat had thought I was being attacked, pelted into the room and leapt onto my dad's leg with teeth and all four sets of claws going in for the kill. It was the first and last time any of my pets (including my big tube of dog Mongo) leapt to my defence. That taught the bugger for making me wet myself.

Rest in peace you midget mentalist, and thanks
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 13:50, Reply)
Pet Stories
My cat Boodle would suck the tip of her tail like a dummy when she was a kitten. Rather loud slurping, even in her sleep. It was quite disappointing when she grew out of it, although occassionally when in a deep sleep, she will just make slurping noises sans tail.

She used to catch birds from time to time at our old place in the country. If she wanted them for herself, she's run in behind the toilet and eat them. If they were for me, she'd leave them on the kitchen floor and strut around looking very pleased with herself. And not just birds. She once "shared" some kids ham and cheese jaffle with me, leaving the cheese and crust on the floor for me after she'd gobbled down the ham. And one Australia Day she brought home cocktail franks and left me some with bites taken out of them. Same weekend she brought me a deflated balloon - it must have seemed alive because there was enough air in it to be squishy between her jaws. She left it for me in the kitchen - latex tastes horrible.

She LOVES individually wrapped sanitary pads. When she bites them, the air being squeezed out of the little packets sounds like it's breathing. I have to hide them.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 13:44, Reply)
My poor childhood
Sorry to bring the tone down a little. I've never had a pet. One of my mum's friends mentioned some time back, "Never had a pet? Megan (my mum), I'm sure that's bad for your childs development." I'm sure she's right.

Recently my Dad got a dog ('cos he's just retired and now got time for such). It's a small girl dog called Ninny. They told me what type of breed she was, but I forget. Don't know much about dogs, probably because I never had a pet.

P.S. A lot of these pet stories end up with the animal being run over. I didn't realise the issue was that common.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 13:37, Reply)
i heard dogs gave good blowjobs
they dont they bite
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 13:24, Reply)
IF only it was america and in the 21st Century...
... I'd have known about ridiculous law-suits, and I'd have become rich from this one...

At the tender age of 6, My brother and I owned a Trio of guinea-pigs. The 2 girls were hot for guinea-cock, and were constantly either giving birth or up the duff.

Our parents didn't dispair, but instead flogged the mini-guineas to the local pet-shop... Never-the-less, at one point we managed to have a pen In the garden with no less than 13 of the squeaky little buggers in it. It was at that point that the farmer who owned the field next door decided to spread weed-killer in small pellet-form. Much of it coming through our fence.....

*squeak squeak munch munch*



*SQUEEAK!!* (Pratchett gag... sorry)

I went out to get them back into their hutch-city, and found 52 legs pointing skywards in a salute to weedkiller... but no!! one was moving!! I picked her up, her eyes rolled wildly and her heart was franticly racing as she spewed green-grassy-guinea-pig vomit onto my shirt.. and then she joined her family.

Picture a lone 6 year-old boy running to mummy his face streaked with tears... all the pets were dead. Not one left standing.

We never got any more.. and a mass rodent-grave was dug, the 3 adult and 10 baby fluff-balls were gone for ever and never replaced.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 12:22, Reply)
My cat ran into a wall
and knocked himself out.

Three days later he had a stroke and died.
Is it linked? I dunno. I think it is.
But still, RIP, Yoda.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 11:39, Reply)
This Ole House
My brother taught our dog to bark like a maniac whenever Shakin' Stevens came on the TV.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 11:32, Reply)
"rolf harris"
my grandads dog is the biggest fan of rolf harris. he's a west highland terrier (old poeple dog) and loves watching TV!

gorillas tend to piss him right off but he allways sits quiet and watches a full half hour episode of animal hostpital. he recodnises the theme tune and even knows the words "rolf harris"! once these words are utterd he allways wanders to the TV assuming that his favourate show will be on...
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 11:30, Reply)
Sloppy's mess
We used to have a pet dog Sloppy who was really gross. His favourite thing was to eat his shit, then sick it up then pour the sick into his arse-end via a funnel, then shit it out again, then eat it all, then sick it back up, then funnel it back into his arse, then shit it out, then eat it, then sick it all back up again. This could go on for hours.

How we laughed. And retched.

Then my parents bought a TV and life was never the same again
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 11:18, Reply)
Such a Nice cat
When I moved to Ireland and set up home with my boyfriend, we decided that we needed a cat to hang about the place to make it feel like home.

So after talking to a couple of rescue agencies, we picked a rather shy cat who's last owner died suddenly.

Now after the normal three weeks of hiding about the house, our new cat Bean, decided that it was time to get to know us, and eventually started sleeping with us.

All was fine untill one morning I woke up to Bean licking my fingers, which I thought was cute. It stoped being cute when she lined up her mouth to take a bite.

Her last owner died rather suddenly, well we have heard the stories of pets at home with dead owners. Poor thing.

She has stopped it now, but not after a last hope effort of sinking her teeth into my boyfriend's big toe in the middle of the night. You know, just to see if he would mind.

Now and again we will feed her the odd dentabit so that she has something to snack on in bed. Bless.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 11:14, Reply)
My fascinating story...
I have a cat. Her name is Rover.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 11:13, Reply)
Ferdinand the Great (RIP). legendary Persian - complete with the munted face. Probabaly contributed to his excessive purring volume - esp as he loved to be on the bed - and oooh yeah! let that motor mower rip at 3am...heh heh.

yep - big mf'n rats from around the compost, birds but not quite the herons who came down for the goldfish.

He was a real hero - until yours truly flew the coop at 18 and took him off to a flat near a lot of bush. Lo and behold we are then hit by 3 days of rain. Guess who didn't come back?

Still feel crap about it too...
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 11:10, Reply)
A long time ago
my dad was a commercial traveller for a brief period, selling to farms. He rolled up one day to this place which had a huge big fierce looking dog in the yard. So gingerly he made his way to the house door, only to see this enormous mutt come bounding towards him, drooling.

It jumped up at my dad, who by this time was sweating like a paediatrician at a dyslexics' conference, but it turned out to be a very friendly beast and ended up just licking his face.

Whereupon a corgi ran in and bit him on the ankle!
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 11:04, Reply)
My neighbours
used to keep chickens. They were intended as laying hens, but didn't lay many eggs. And they weren't really any good for eating either, firstly because they were laying hens, and also because the family had become so attached to them they couldn't bear to kill any.

Complete waste of time and money!

They buy their chicken and eggs from Tesco now, like most other non-agricultural folk.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 10:58, Reply)
Natural instinct
I have a retriever that won't retrive, although once he did run after a stick piss on it then gallop back looking terribly pleased with himself.

length, about the same as a lipstick
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 10:42, Reply)
Aunt had a lovely friendly golden labrador and a chirpy, happy canary.
Aunt comes home from work to find empty cage and no dog.

After looking around the house for a while she discovers the dog under the bed and 2 feet and a beak in front of the telly.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 10:42, Reply)
Titch the dog
Some time after her rescue from the bus station, this slightly insane dog learned the wonders of electricity.
She will quite deliberately rub up against the furniture to build a static charge, before touching her nose to the elbow of whom ever is close by, causing a small shock which seems to baffle her, but not deter her as she'll immediately go and do exactly the same thing again.
It only really works in the spring and autumn though.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 10:12, Reply)
Sparkie the Lancashire Uber-Cat
Sparkie was a splendid cat. Among some of his odd tendencies was an ability to catch and kill seagulls, to beat up a Rottweiler, and to apparantly enjoy am dram. He also had a liking for the opening credits of Dr Who, which would inspire him to try to leap into the TV screen when a lesser cat would have hid behind the couch. Despite these staunch tendencies he had a strange phobia of the floor and would go to impressive lengths to avoid walking on it. He was a damn fine cat.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 8:18, Reply)
As children
My brother and I used to get calves every year. Weird I know. Basically my parents would buy us a calf each that we got to feed and look after and then when it was big enough we'd kill it and then eat it. Looking back it seems so much more fucked up than it did at the time.

Anyway, one year my calf escaped and ran down the road where it was spotted by our neighbour eating his lettuces. Now this neighbour was a dwarf short of an orgy at the best of times and went mental when he saw this cow and so pulled out his shotgun and pumped him full of lead.

Two weeks late we were sat around the table spitting out little bits of shot as we enjoyed our Sunday roast.

True story.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 8:13, Reply)
Fuzz the dog
We used to have a dog called Fuzz, terribly skittish, afraid of everything from gun shots, fireworks to torches and the sound that lighters make.
On one occasion, for giggles we fed him a hot dog sausage, which naturally pleased him no end, he sat there with the hot dog hanging from his mouth like a cigar, when all of a sudden he sharply inhaled, the sausage vanished completely. No biting, chewing of savoring, it was just the funniest suction noise and gone, at this point he became very excited, tail wagging and bouncing around. He seemed truly proud of himself that day.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 7:06, Reply)
most disgusting thing ever?
What is the most disgusting thing? Dog vomit? Dog Poo?

My Dobie used to eat a lot of grass and puke. (ever since she was a pup, so it wasn’t a health thing) – one day, after hearing her practically vomit up a lung, I was concerned so I investigated. Only to be greeted by a puddle of dog vom – with a large, black, meaty looking dog turd in the centre.

(had to clean it up quickly, otherwise she probably would have tried to scarf it down again)

Dogs are disgusting creatures. But they’re sooooooo cute.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 5:16, Reply)
My Doberman apart from eating stockings had a fascination for sponges. Any sponge would end up in 6 billion pieces and sometimes bits would come out in her poo (funny to watch it emerge, as it comes out and once free of the confines of the anus poofs out as sponges do after they’ve been compacted tightly) – but this time she swallowed a whole scourer/sponge (you know the one with sponge one side, scourer the other) in one gulp, mind you. Visit to the vet, come home with paraffin oil. Feed it to dog. Farts paraffin oil all over the back yard. No sponge. Feed more oil to dog. Come home from work. See doggy has passed the sponge/scourer. Yay! How do I know this? She’s carrying it around in her mouth. Retrieve sponge/scourer quickly as I don’t want it to get a return trip through her. By the way it was curved, it seemed to have emerged scourer side out too. Owie.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 5:03, Reply)
When I was a nipper
I had the best cat in the world. He was more like a dog than a cat, he'd chase sticks and was always very attentive. The best bit about him was that every morning, without fail, he would jump into bed with me and snuggle up to my face. Oh, how I loved Trevor.

Then one day he was gone. Dad woke me up one morning and told me Trevor passed away in the night - it must have been a heart attack, he said. I cried and cried and cried. I was inconsolable for 2 days.

Fast forward 15 years and a slightly drunken father, at a dinner party with family and friends, regaled us all with the story of how one day many years ago, he had jumped over a fence as our stupid bloody cat ran under it. All 16 stone of my fat arse father came down on Trevors head. The worst thing was that he survived for two days after this before dying.

Heart attack my arse. The poor bastard died of fat man on the head syndrome.

RIP Trev.
(, Thu 14 Jun 2007, 4:41, Reply)

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