My mam told me a story about one of her cats when she was young.
She was called Cumin and had 127 kittens.

They couldn't afford to get her neutered, my mam got most of her pocket money from selling the kittens.


Didn't have all those kittens at the same time though, that cat would look like a katamari.
( Rev. Cleo still alive, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:38, Reply)

Just for you
A couple of years ago myself and some work colleagues went out for a drink or two one Friday night. This of course resulted in many, many drinks and we all ended up at a party. One of my lovely colleagues, Sean, (the poor unfortunate IT manager) had been unsuccessfully trying to leave all night as he had promised his wife he’d be directly home after work. By pub closing he was in an alcoholic stupor and we started to wind him up about his every more increasingly annoyed wife at home. What could he do to make it up to the Mrs.?

Someone at this party had some kittens living in a shed at the back of the garden and it seemed like the best idea in the world to bring one of the kittens home to the wife (she loved animals) and he would be right back in the good books when she saw the fluffy ickle kitty.

Well drunk and all as they were the managed to catch one of the kittens and Sean struggled home with the poor kitten wrapped in his jacket and trying to escape. He was covered in scratches but the excess of alcohol and the euphoria of the genius plot had convinced him that it was all worth it.

When he got in the wife was in bed so he just dumped the cat in the sitting room and stumbled to bed. In the morning he woke up with an awful headache and no recollection of his genius cat giving idea. He grovelled and snivelled to his wife and blamed the rest of the office and promised to make it up to her that night.

The wife gets up and goes downstairs to put the kettle on. As she opens the door she screams. The cat (which as it turned out was an entirely wild child completely unused to humans) and gone mental being tapped in a strange house and had TRASHED the place. It had pissed on the couch, ripped the curtains and scratched and clawed its way through cupboards and the contents, knocked over plants and ornaments and the place was ruined. As soon as she opened the door the cat flew out past her and out an open window never to be seen again. But the smell remained.

I felt sorry for him really – she gave him such a bollocking that he was still shaking on Monday and was NEVER allowed out with us again.
(prideofthecoombe has heard it all before, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:37, Reply)

This will be a hard one
I have too many stories for this. I'm already getting out the slide projector.

Worst one I can think about is my dog Mickey. He's a bichon frise, which is close to a poodle. Like all bichons, he has a habit of keeping his nose to the ground whenever he walks anywhere, and he loves eating random things.

One time he got really sick and nobody knew why. My mom noticed he hadn't had a bowel movement in a while. I think after a week she started to panic. She took him to the vet where they determined there was some sort of blockage. It could be serious, and they recommended exploratory surgery to locate the source of the blockage. It was going to be expensive.

He spent the night at the vet before the operation. Then, in the morning, he took a huge dump. Mixed in with it was a piece of plastic wrap, like the kind that you would package ground beef in.

That single bowel evacuation ended up saving my family a small fortune in unnecessary surgery.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:36, Reply)

The pub dog
I used to be landlady of a pub out in the sticks. As it had a lot of land we thought we'd get a dog. So duly collected this little puppy which grew to be 14 stone - a wonderful Great Dane called Bogart (aka Buggalugs). When he was young he spent a lot of time in the garden with two young goats and thought he was one for a while. I remember him happily munching grass and cabbage with them.
As he got a bit older he got a thing about hats. One day an old codger was stood at the bar in a flat cap. Bogey stood up on his hind legs and gently took the cap in his mouth and ran off with it. People kept their caps in their pockets after that. He loved children and could often be found bringing back a stray child from the far reaches of the garden, holding its hand gently in his mouth.

One night at a lock-in (long before 24 hour drinking) I was dancing with a customer. Bogey wormed his way between us & put his paws on my shoulders as if to say 'mine!' He was a much better dancer.

The only problem was when you were lying in bed. He would take a running jump and land on your stomach (if you were lucky!) He was a fantastic friend who kept me sane through some hairy times.
(misspiggy In danger of having to get a job, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:36, Reply)

Goose!
When my brother was a baby/small toddler, my parents had a Guard Goose for him (it used to just be a random goose that lived on the farm next door, but it sort of adopted my family and ended up living in our garage). It liked my brother and looked after him, so that if he was playing outdoors and fell over or something, it would make a loud fuss, my mum would hear, and then she could pick my brother up and comfort him.

Unfortunately, Goosey was a bit too effective in the end; he'd guard my bro, but to the point of trying to stop even my parents going near him. They had to get rid of him eventually, when he started attacking them as soon as they stepped out of the house.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:31, Reply)

Cats not smart eh?



(BeatsWork, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:29, Reply)

I went over to a friend's house who had a new cat

As you do, I said "hello" to the new cat.

A Japanese guy walking past heard me, ripped off my idea and made millions of dollars.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:29, Reply)

Chickpeas
We had both our cats castrated on our kitchen table. To be fair, it was a mate who was doing the snipping, not me, though it fair brought a tear to my eyes. It helped that he was actually a vet too.

Injection into the cat's front paw, cat drops like a sack of spuds. Vet starts frenetically tugging at the hairy nutsacks, slices with scalpel, pops the love spuds out (see title), hummus a little tricky for a while after that.

Slices them off, doesn't even do a left over right and under, right over left and under or even a granny knot, nor does he sew the sacks back up again, just a quick antibiotic and bobs ya flippin'.

This is the weird bit, the bit you don't see on Rolf or when you usually have your cats castrated. When cats come round from anaethesia, their brains wake up sequentially, one of the first signs of this is 'paddling' which is what it sounds like, all paws going hell for leather.
"Hold it down", he said, "It's starting to paddle!"
"Huh?"
"It's still asleep but its legs are waking up, hold it or it will be off!"
Yeah yeah..
10 seconds later, the cat was in the loft, two storeys up, banging its head against the furthest wall like an angry wasp. This lasted about 10 mins, the rest of the cat's brain then woke up and it stopped paddling, and spent the next three days licking where its bollocks weren't with a mournful expression.
(Countryslicker, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:25, Reply)

Our little yappy terrier, Sammy
If we shout 'squirrels!' when he's sleeping, he'll immediately run through the conservatory and out into the garden, yapping up at the trees as loud as he can. He'll then come back in, back to where he was, and go straight back to sleep.

It's a particularly entertaining trick to do when it's pouring down with rain...
( johnsto, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:18, Reply)

More tails (groan)
All my life I (or my immediate family) have had pets, mainly feline, but a few others too.

The earliest I can remember was Kim the dog. She was a Jack Russell crossed with a Springer Spaniel, loving as anything and bouncy as hell- at least until athritis slowed her down. She wasn't too prone to doing stupid or amusing things, but had a good trick where she would snap flies out of the air. This continued to the end of her life, in spite of having got a few wasps- these would result in her pawing at her mouth and shaking her head vigorously, like an unsuspecting 18 year old who's just necked polmos...

There was Flopsy the rabbit. Like many of the species, he was evil distilled into a ball of white fur. He chewed electric cables, got hit by cars, and still lived. Like any lonely male of a species, he got... urges. One day we found our poor diminuitive tabby cornered, with the psycho rodent trying to mount her. Incidentally, this rabbit instilled such fear in the young Nedson that one night I woke to see a white object bobbing around the room, and screamed until the entire household came to see the cause of the commotion. It turned out to be a balloon. I didn't mourn the day he finally was killed by a car (probably while trying to mate or fight with it).

Tom was a stray black Tomcat who loitered around our house for weeks before being let in. He was a demon hunter, and would come back with enormous rats. He'd also bring in live frogs, which we decided he must be friends with. However, the most impressive catch he ever had was a whole black pudding. Shortly after moving from the country to the town, Tom disappeared one night, never to return. I like to think he went back to his froggy chum.

Barry was one of two cats we got a while after Tom disappeared. Barry was (and still is) very stupid, and very male, in spite of being neutered. However, he started getting fed tuna by a neighbour, and so we decided to shut him in the house to try and keep ownership of him- we were fed up of only seeing him when said neighbour brought him back to us whenever he needed to go to the vet's. So, the cat flap was boarded up, and a litter tray placed. As things went, the high protein tuna diet had made Barry into a walking ball of muscle with legs attached, so he simply ripped the boarding off the door, and left. I see him occassionally on that b*stard neighbours doorstep.

My mum had a parrot for a while (until she realised just how allergic to birds she is). As anyone with close experience of them will know, Parrots are really quite intelligent, and I'm sure they have a sense of humour. And they don't only mimic voices- Patience could ring like a telephone, mew like a cat and drip like a tap. As a demonstration of her memory, even though it was a year or so between losing Tom and getting Barry & Humbug, when Patience first saw the kittens she called out "Tom!". However, she wasn't to develope a friendship with these new cats the way she did with Tom (a relationship based, I think, on the fact that Tom was too scared to move when she sat on his back and nibbled his ears). On one occassion, Patience was perched atop a cupboard when Humbug walked in. Patience picked up a biscuit barrel next to her, and dropped it on the cat. Such events were normally followed by a bobbing of the head and a chuckle. Another day, Humbug wandered in and mewed for attention. Patience looked at him, and declared "You've been fed".

These days I have two very loving moggies, who having been born feral are the dominant cats in our street, but are gentle with people (and above all, Little Miss Nedson), and only really stupid at the normal cat level.

Sorry about the length, but my diet's helping me lose the girth.
(Neddy Nedson is nice really, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:16, Reply)

Hedgehog vs Greyhound
My greyhound is a retired racer who still hasn't lost that 'chase the small fluffy fucker' instinct. Normally he chases (and kills) cats who stray into his territory, but once he got a hedgehog in our garden instead. I then had to spend half an hour or so plucking hedgehog spines out of his face with tweezers. The very second I'd finished, he charged straight out at full tilt and got another one...
(suckonthisitsblocked, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:13, Reply)

Boxer Dogs II
PJM reminded me..
Our boxer dog, Ben, wasn't quite as switched on as PJMs:

1. Ben was quite a farty dog, he once managed to light his own fart whilst dozing infront of gas fire. He was very confused about that.

2. When anything changed around the house, Ben had to check it out with a good sniffing.
Unfortunately a full ashtray counted as something new. Inevitably when sniffed, it would make him sneeze back into the ashtray.. he did this day after day. Actually, clearing the debris form the table/wall/floor may have been what finally persuaded my Mum to stop smoking..

3. When out walking on the beach with my brother, he cocked his leg on a woman sunbathing. My brother turned to see what the screaming was about - and just kept walking. To be fair, what could you say?
(BeatsWork, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:13, Reply)

S'tan
...we had two cats, they were brothers and although would fight quite nastily with each other, they would soon close ranks on anything else that tried to involve itself. Spyke, the fat ginger sex addict, is unfortunately none too sharp mentally, being the a typical house cat and more of a lover than a fighter (though he did rape a squirrel last week... it was disturbing). His brother, S'tan, was the type of cat everyone dreams of having, jet black, friendly and harbouring a seething hatred of all rodents and birds making for some creative executons (he drowned one in his water bowl... and chewed the wings off one of the neighbours pigeons....evil bastard that he was).

So one day, Spyke was caught unaware and attacked quite vicously by the magpies that nest at the bottom of our garden, with no S'tan there to protect him, Spyke took one hell of a paggering and ended up being taken to vets.... for those who have never seen magpies attack a cat... they are calculating evil buggers, and deserved all that followed...

S'tan declared war... and for a cat who made a habit of butchering any wildlife in our garden... he meant business. He ran up the tree and sat in one of their nests, flicking the chicks out and seemingly relishing in the sight of them bouncing their way down the tree... when barren he would move onto the next nest. Eventually, one of the magpies swooped down in protest.... S'tan jumped up... stuck his rather sizeable claws into the birds face and rode it to the floor below..... removed it's throat... and then ran back up the tree to continue his new fun game.

....Sadly, S'tan is no longer with us, hit by a car a few month back, the only time i ever saw him attack a human was when the vet shoved a themometer up his bum.... even wounded the bugger could shred flesh with ease....

apologies for length.....
( BulldogUgly Visit my profile to see what's between my legs, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:07, Reply)

Fish and spackys don't mix
When I was 4, my brother won some goldfish in a plastic bag of water (as you did back then) at the fair. He brought them home where upon they lived in a glass mixing bowl on a shelf in the dining room.

Now being a rather un-girly and very gruesome 4 year old (I pulled worms apart, liked spiders, skewered slugs with sticks and put them on the bonfire to hear them pop and played cricket poorly with my brothers), I decided I wanted to know more about fish. Specifically what would happen if I took them out of the bowl. I was stood there with this little fish in my hand when my mum walked past, so the fish was very quickly returned to the bowl where it floated about on its side, mouth opening and closing rapidly. Seeing me stood on a chair and a near dead fish, my mum wanted to know what I'd done.

I then had to explain to my brother when he got home from school why I'd killed his beloved fish.

Length? Well the fish thought it too short.
(Prawn, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:03, Reply)

gerbil self-eatiness
my mate's gerbil would eat anything - i mean anything! whatever was left within reach would be torn to pieces in a frenzy. to prove this an experiment was undertaken... said gerbil was gently held and handed it's own tail, holding the tail between both gerbilly paws like a big mac it opened it's jaws and chomped down. it managed to squeak with pain/surprise and bite at the same time, which i was impressed with - gerbil ran off and had learnt a valuable lesson - beware the hand of man!!!!!! animal cruelty?? meh...
( sir loafalot ended an eon of lurking on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 13:02, Reply)

Clever kitties
Many moons ago I lived in a huge, unheatable flat. It got so cold I put my tent up in the living room to sleep in. I had recently got two ickle kitties so had to keep the door shut, know what havoc claws could wreak with said tent. The kitties (Blott & Biggles) were in the habit of sleeping curled up together in an upturned hat on the kitchen table, so I wasn't being cruel shutting them out.

They, however, had other ideas and each morning I would wake up with two furry purr-monsters inside my sleeping bag. Somehow they had managed to open the door and get inside the zipped-up tent and into my sleeping bag.
This happened three times, so I just stopped trying to keep them out.

This flat was on a very busy road above a shop which had an iron fire escape to get to it.
Somehow Blott & Biggles, when a little older, kept bringing in frogs. I would find them all over, including a big fat one just sitting happily in the cats' water bowl. One evening I noticed a brown shiny lump on the living room carpet and thought a cat had crapped there - until it jumped!
The frogs weren't all so lucky, though. When I moved out I found a selection of flattened & mummified frogs under the rug.
(misspiggy In danger of having to get a job, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:48, Reply)

Boxer Dogs
Aside from being a huge fan of cats, I grew up with Boxer dogs in the family and have many a story about their intelligence and general scattiness.

Out first Boxer was a massive, fawn coloured dog called Kitch. Kitch had been well trained by her previous owners and despite being a very loving dog took absolutely no shit from anything. No-one was allowed in the house unless Kitch acknowledged a signal from either mum or dad.

When I was a baby, mum used to push my pram to the supermarket and leave me and the dog outside safe in the knowledge that no-one was getting within six feet of my pram. She'd sit with her chest puffed out and guarded me until mum returned. Indeed, when I was brought home for the very first time, Kitch was curious as to the gurgling bundle in my mum's arms and jumped up to take a sniff of me. From that moment she never let me out of her sight.

When Kitch died at the ripe old age of 13 we got Pixie, a brindle Boxer puppy. Pixie was scatty and playful as Boxers are but fiercely intelligent and very loyal. As a six year old, our neighbours German Shepherd cross bit me in the face leaving a nasty gash less than an inch from my left eye. Although she was still a puppy, Pixie took umbridge at this and bolted out of the door to exact swift retribution on a dog twice her size. No contest, a few seconds later the German Shepherd was on it's back whimpering in submission with an angry Boxer puppy triumphantly sat on it.

She also had a fascination with hedgehogs. She'd insist on bringing them in from the garden before dropping them in the kitchen, when mayhem would ensue as Mum would chase the startled prickly beastie around the kitchen and the dog would immediately bolt outside in order to retrieve the newly released hedgehog. Once the toing and froing ceased, the kitchen would be disinfected and the dog de-flead. Despite this, the hedgehogs seemed to enjoy being caught and released in a strange house.

Upon upping sticks and moving to South Africa in September 1987, Pixie was duly crated up and shipped to Cape Town where she quickly made herself at home. One weekend, we took a drive to the beach at Simonstown and brought her along for the ride. However, once off her lead she went absolutely crazy, barking and snarling at the ocean and grabbing at our sleeves and pulling us away whenever we approached the surf. I remember asking what the hell was wrong and being rewarded with frenzied barking.

Next day Dad brought home the newspaper. It turned out that the Shark nets at Simonstown had been taken away the previous day. Coincidence? Your guess is as good as mine.

We lost Pixie in 1992 after a long battle against cancer. She was diagnosed in 1988 and given three months to live, but being a headstrong and happy dog she battled on to the very last.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:47, Reply)

Dogs and beaches
A sadly-missed friend (RIP Gav) had a sadly-missed dog (RIP Luke) many many years ago. We took said dog to the beach at Aberdeen, where he went racing off, slowing a little as he hit the upslope of sand piled against the windward side of one of the groynes (yes, that's what they call those wooden fence things). With a startled yelp, he plunged over the edge about six feet into a little pool below, got to his feet, set off up the next one, "Yelp!" [splash], off up the next...

Some dogs learn, other dogs, well.

Not so much the length but the sudden drop, y'see.
(gordonjcp, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:35, Reply)

Gerbil escape team.
We had three gerbils, quite a few years back now, who were like a WW2 escape group. They lived in an aquarium, about half full of sawdust and shredded paper for them to dig in. There was a lid on the tank, wooden frame with a wire mesh top. What they would do, is pile the sawdust up at one end, so that it was almost to the top of the tank. Then, they'd push up at the corner of the lid.

Now, gerbils are not very big or strong animals, and lifting this lid took all three of them. But eventually there'd be enough of a gap for one to squeeze out. However, as soon as the escapee had, the two remaining wouldn't be able to keep it open. So, you come downstairs one morning and find two gerbils in a tank, and one loose in the house.

It took us bloody ages to work out what they were doing.
(goat thinks you're shit, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:34, Reply)

Luke
The Dobermann. The greatest pet I ever did have. Looked hard as a bastard and wouldnt take any shit but really, he was soft as anything. He had a large mothering instinct for puppys, which for a male dog is quite bizarre. Anyways..

A fly. Buzzing around. annoying us all. Including Luke so it seems. He is following the flys hap hazard pattern, head tracing the flight. The fly lands on the balcony window. Luke HEADBUTTS the pane of glass, puts his head straight through it.

Luckily he was well trained so when mum shouted STAY he didnt move a muscle, otherwise he would have carved his neck open summat chronic.

The fly survived to tell the tail.
(The_Greyhound wrote www.luckymcdanger.blog.co.uk on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:32, Reply)

Legless
.
As some of you know, my username is in tribute to my wonderful dog Legless (or Legless4legs as he's sometime known.)

Legless4legs was an amazing hound. Very, very intelligent with a repertoire of tricks, My two favourites were:

POLICE! - And Legless4legs would jump up onto his hind legs and lean on the nearest wall ready to be frisked.

MICE! - where Legless4legs, a huge and ferocious looking hound, would immediately spring into my arms and look scared.

I miss him....

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:28, Reply)

Amos the Border Collie
When I brought Amos home he would eat anything and everything - but always the wrong things.

He ate a massive hole in the carpet.

He ate the plaster off the walls.

He ate balled-up socks. and my sons underpants.

He has even eaten my underpants while i was still wearing them!!!

One day he was in the yard, looking like he was about to have a dump, when he started trying to get to his back end. Eventually he did - and promptly pulled a pair the wifes tights out of his arse! It was like a Paul Daniels Magic trick!

He is still alive today - nearly 15 years old now - how het got to this age with some of the stuff he has eaten - its a miricale!
(Dirtyleeds, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:27, Reply)

Frogs
As was done in the 70s, I used to collect tadpoles in the spring and watch them metamorphose into frogs. Well, one year - I was probably 9 or 10 - I had collected my batch of little black wriggly things, and they had grown legs. I kept them in an old fish tank on the kitchen windowsill.

When my mum opened the curtains in the morning, she was met with several half-inch long frogs hopping around, out of the tank.

My mum hates frogs. They give her the creeps.

They were released into the local reservoir later that day.

Actually, thinking back on it, good on my mum for putting up with my tadpoles, when she was actually a bit scared of them.

Do kids still collect tadpoles these days? Or has the HSE banned it?
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:27, Reply)

My wife's dog *really* hates fireworks..
www.b3ta.cr3ation.co.uk/data/jpg/doginaflap.jpg

So he decided to come in. Unfortunately he is bigger than the cat..

Size? It wasn't his length that was the problem.
(BeatsWork, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:17, Reply)

Kitty cat Sooty
Right from the second I had him Sooty would eat anything. And I mean anything. Stuff with garlic, creamy sauces, pasta...... He is an industrial dustbin.
Anyway a few months ago we noticed he was trailing around looking sorry for himself. He was in the kitchen doing bum scuttles, he was basically dragging his arse along the floor clearly trying to get something out.
We saw some poo and then saw something dangling from his bum. My partner pulled it with some kitchen towel, expecting it to be some grass or something. It turned out to be string. On closer inspection it wasn't just any old string........it was the knotted string you get with tampons. He'd bloody eaten a tampon.
He had the shits for days and didn't move very much for at least 3 days. He felt very sorry for himself...
(TheGizoid wowling since, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:13, Reply)

Boris The Cat
Sorry guys gonna be a long one but i think its worth it.
For many years now, my family have owned a pure white fluffball of a cat named Boris. Boris's life started out him being named after one of the great world leaders, the late Boris Yeltzen. He was meant to be called Gorbechov, but its hard to tell one Russian leader from the other.
Now Boris has a few traits that he may share with other cats, but to our little family make him great.
One is when he drapes himself your shoulder scarf style. He can get so comfortable that, i kid you not, my brother once rode a bicycle around our house with Boris draped across his shoulders. Never before have i seen such fear in an animals face.
He also has the odd feature of having only half an ear. He was born with two of the things, but slowly they have disappeared. Being a cat, Boris likes the sun. But being a white cat, the sun is not his friend. It was not uncommon to see Boris is his early years to get round in the summertime with bright pink ears from zinc cream to help prevent cancer.
But alas, we got lazy and Boris found zinc unagreeable, so that disappeared. So 5 years ago when black marks started to form on his ears, we saw that Boris had joined the many with Australia's biggest killer, skin cancer. As the melonoma grew and grew, we became concerned. Taking him to the vet, we discovered to have both ears lobbed off and his teeth cleaned it would be $450. Bugger that we thought, we'll do it ourselves.
So the brother who had taken Boris for a bike ride, who was now employed cutting up dead bodies for usage in anatomy classes, grabbed the scapel and went for it. We tried to give Boris some Bailey's to sooth the pain, but no all he needed was a sock over his head and two other family members to hold him down. My job was to heat up the bit of metal to quarterise the wound WW1 style.
I stepped on said metal after burning said cat. So there were howls of pain from the cat, howls of pain from me and swearing from the rest of the family from disbelief.
That was about 5 years ago, Boris is still kicking. Think the cancer has travelled inwards, because every night about 10:15 he runs headlong into the kitchen table. Poor thing, probably just to streamlined to stop.
Don't report me to the RSPCA, rather click "I Like This", if not for me, then Boris.

P.S No apologys for length-it was long, but in the end satisfying
(Tinbum is having a merry old time, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:13, Reply)

Hamster Suicide
When I was married to my evil 1st wife (think Hitler but with a FULL 'tache), I needed some male company. As most of my mates were "off limits" - she couldn't stand them and they hated the sight of her - I decided to purchase Basil, a Russian Long Haired Hamster.
Basil was ace. He looked like Dougal from the Magic Roundabout, and was more intellegent than Hitleress! I was running a pub at the time, and Basil had this amazing trick where I'd take him downstairs and bet the regulars I could put him inside the pool table and predict which pocket he would exit from. Basil and me were like Paul Newman and Robert Redford in "the Sting", he was my soul-mate.
One night I got really maudlin with a few mates that had braved the Nazi and popped round to my boozer and decided I needed to leave Hitleress. One of my mates said I could live at his, but that would mean leaving the pub, and that was my job, what would I do? I didn't want Hitleress to "win" the situation too.
I decided I had to split with Adolfina and seek a divorce, once I had done this I called my boss at the company I worked for and informed him of the change, as the ex said she'd pack up and leave immediately and I didnt want her to get paid for a second longer than she deserved. Then, 2 weeks later the brewery told me that as we had been employed as a couple, I was now redundant - I had 3 weeks to get out.
So it was off to the mates house to live till I got back on my feet. Now my mate was allergic to pet hair, and as anyone who has owned a Russian Hamster knows, Basil moulted. A lot.
So Basil went off to live with Hitleress, and I pined. Basil was my best friend and I knew he hated her. One night The ex calls me and through tears she tells me that Basil had died. He had escaped from his deluxe hamster space station house and had dived head first into her dads tropical fishtank. He had taken out about a dozen Angel Fish before floating, belly-up with a seraphic expression on his face.
3 weeks alone with my ex and her family had driven Basil to suicide.
I got custody of the body and one night myself and my mates took him to the river Humber and -in one of those boats with a elastic band propeller- we gave him a viking funeral. Set fire to the boat and watched it drift down to the Humber Bridge with a tape of Amazing Grace being played on Bagpipes. I cried my heart out, and in fact am filling up now.

Basil was a legend, I have a framed photo of Basil on my desk at work 14 years later. I loved him. Rip Baz xx
(airliebird Has now found Twiglets in Sydney!!!!!!! yay!, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:05, Reply)

I've found your cat
Me and my brother were 10 and 8 and we loved our cat. One day it went missing and we went round the whole neighbourhood looking for it. After two days we photocopied leaflets offering a 5 quid reward and knocked on all the doors in the area. That night we got a phone call. "I've found your cat. Can you come round and get it?"
We were so excited. Went to this creepy old man's house. "It's in the garage," said he, opening the garage door. We looked around expecting to see the cat run out to greet us but we couldn't see it.
"I'll give you a bin bag to take it away in," continued the old man. That's when we saw the cat. Dead. Stiff as a brush. In a bucket.
The old guy even took our fiver until our Dad went round and threatened to give him the bucket treatment himself.
(mzungu, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:03, Reply)

true story

Me and my then-girlfriend had a series of cats. My girlfriend loved it when I did funny voices, pretending it was the cats talking (I still do this actually). We had a cat called Grezzle Greedyguts, who was half-Russian Blue, so I gave him a Russian accent ("Hyello. Please to give me cat food. Hyere is my anus." and so on).

Anyway, we were watching the Simpsons, and it was the episode with President Bush (senior), where Mikhail Gorbachev turns up "with present for warming of house".

My girlfriend announced to a room full of our friends that "he talks just like Grezzle!".
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 8 Jun 2007, 12:03, Reply)