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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, 8:15)
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When I was still with my wife we had a little black cat called Fuckhead*
He was vere cute and fluffy and he liked to play...

Er, sorry, no. That's most cats. This one was a complete fucktard who liked nothing more than pissing me off in millions of ways.

Washed the car? He'd be walking all over it within minutes. For some reason his preferred path from the front door to the road was OVER the car, complete with muddy footprints.

He was also a psychopathic serial killer, and killed mice / birds / rabbits regularly. Highlights of this were:

* a fucking ENORMOUS rabbit that he couldn't get through the cat flap so instead he left it just outside the front door and ate a little bit more every time he was passing.

* the live birds he used to bring in sometimes and then let go, to chase gleefully around the house as they sprayed blood everywhere.

* the live mice he brought in, which he'd then accidentally drop and we'd spend hours trying to catch.

He was also completely stupid. An example of this? He met the lovely Jessie once, and didn't like her.

*Fuckhead wasn't his real name.
(, Wed 13 Jun 2007, 7:55, Reply)

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