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)
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)
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And a few more.
With some thought, I've recalled a few more stories involving other pets of mine and friends.
Let's begin, shall we?
A friend of mine, who we'll call Lauren, had 2 pet goldfish when she was the tender age of 6. Her younger sister Dale had a somewhat unhealthy infatuation with said fish. Lauren goes out somewhere (play-date with a friend, selling crack somewhere, who knows?) and Dale sees her chance. Fishing around in the tank, Dale grabs both goldfish and proceeds to give them a big long hug.
It seems the fish weren't so appreciative of her affections and promptly died.
Not to be found out, Dale had a cunning plan! Grabbing a banana from the fruitbowl and chomping through the fruit, she then deposited the dead fish into the empty skin and carefully placed fish-banana back into the bowl.
Boy, Lauren was in for a surprise when she decided she wanted a banana for a snack.
On the topic of fish, I had a few of them myself back in the day. 10, if I recall, of those little tropical fish. I also had a rat named Templeton.
Waking up one morning, I noticed there were only 9 fish, with no fish corpse floating around. I thought nothing of it. The next morning, 8. And then 7 and 6. I decided I wasn't going to have any more disappearing fish, so I watched them... And watched Temptleton break out of his cage, dive into the tank and eat one. Just one. Maybe he didn't think I'd notice if he only ate them one at a time.
The bastard.
And then there's Arthur the beagle, my mum's dog. Scared of everything, honestly. A plastic bag gets a reaction from him as if he'd just seen the beginning of the apocalypse. But worse than the plastic bags, is my dad's motorbike helmet. Upon seeing it on dad, Arthur yelps and whines, and buries his head under the corner of his bed. Just his head, mind you. He might be afraid to look at it, but he's not afraid to fart in it's general direction.
Length, girth... Ah sod it.
( , Sat 9 Jun 2007, 4:47, Reply)
With some thought, I've recalled a few more stories involving other pets of mine and friends.
Let's begin, shall we?
A friend of mine, who we'll call Lauren, had 2 pet goldfish when she was the tender age of 6. Her younger sister Dale had a somewhat unhealthy infatuation with said fish. Lauren goes out somewhere (play-date with a friend, selling crack somewhere, who knows?) and Dale sees her chance. Fishing around in the tank, Dale grabs both goldfish and proceeds to give them a big long hug.
It seems the fish weren't so appreciative of her affections and promptly died.
Not to be found out, Dale had a cunning plan! Grabbing a banana from the fruitbowl and chomping through the fruit, she then deposited the dead fish into the empty skin and carefully placed fish-banana back into the bowl.
Boy, Lauren was in for a surprise when she decided she wanted a banana for a snack.
On the topic of fish, I had a few of them myself back in the day. 10, if I recall, of those little tropical fish. I also had a rat named Templeton.
Waking up one morning, I noticed there were only 9 fish, with no fish corpse floating around. I thought nothing of it. The next morning, 8. And then 7 and 6. I decided I wasn't going to have any more disappearing fish, so I watched them... And watched Temptleton break out of his cage, dive into the tank and eat one. Just one. Maybe he didn't think I'd notice if he only ate them one at a time.
The bastard.
And then there's Arthur the beagle, my mum's dog. Scared of everything, honestly. A plastic bag gets a reaction from him as if he'd just seen the beginning of the apocalypse. But worse than the plastic bags, is my dad's motorbike helmet. Upon seeing it on dad, Arthur yelps and whines, and buries his head under the corner of his bed. Just his head, mind you. He might be afraid to look at it, but he's not afraid to fart in it's general direction.
Length, girth... Ah sod it.
( , Sat 9 Jun 2007, 4:47, Reply)
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