As I write it is 3.55 am. I have been woken AGAIN by my cats. I have three cats, one is completely normal and the other two are stark raving mad. I mean seriously bonkers. They persecute me; I'm convinced that they consider it their duty to see if they can make me throw myself out of the window through lack of sleep. Which I may do just to rub their noses in it because if they think anyone other than me will put up with their lunatic ways they are sadly mistaken. Now how did I acquire the first of these two instruments of torture?
Okay, cat one Tigga (aka Beelzebub) was a gift. Yes, A GIFT.
Now please accept my advice -Never give anyone an animal for a gift because if the animal turns out to be a pain in the arse the recipient WILL HATE YOU FOR ALL ETERNITY! Yes, the next time I see my ex colleagues I'll be wearing my combats and holding my semi automatic.
So to elaborate, 2 days before my wedding back in 1991 I left a job I had been in for a some years and at the end of the day all the staff gathered to me a send off with speeches and gifts appropriate for a housewife and bride to be;
1. A packet of J cloths.
2. A copy of "Eating for Two."
3. And one of those circular thingies you're supposed to wear on your wedding night...um... what's it called? Oh yes - a noose.
Anyway, just as I thought we were done the manager announced that they had another "special" gift for me. Hoorah! I thought...at last a stripogram! I didn't care which one; Tarzan, a fireman or even a chef, I was going to have some sexy virile young man do his stuff just for me! Yee Ha! So there I was, grinning from ear to ear, looking forward to a fun night on the tiles ....
So I looked with anticipation to the winding staircase for the dramatic entrance, waiting for the Stripper music to begin and feeling a little flustered. I'd never been on the receiving end of a male stripogram...what exactly was expected of me? But never one to give up a challenge I decided I would play along.... My heart was beating furiously... thump, thump, thump....Would my young hunk look like Pierce or Kevin? Or maybe Arnie? (The wine was beginning to take effect.)
Then suddenly on the staircase appears a colleague holding a ... KITTEN.
And the kitten was for me. SHoCK, HorroR!
(The noose suddenly felt enticingly silky in my hands.)
But being the polite lady I am, I said all the right things; "Oh isn't she lovely", "Oh how terribly kind " and " I've always wanted a kitten two days before I get married."
But inside I was thinking this;
And very possibly a bit of this;
Oh fiddly, fiddly, fiddly dee! (Work out your own translation.)
Anyhow, I couldn't believe it! Did I really look like a gal who wanted a small black pussy?
Well, why would I? When I'd already had one?
Yes Sweetie, the stray cat had been living in my flat for the past few months. Presumably, my colleagues thought Sweetie pussy needed some company. But believe me, one bonkers wild cat was enough but another one was going to be an utter disaster.Because little did my colleagues know that Tigga would make Sweetie look sane ... Tigga would become The Cat From Hell.
Anyhow, well that was that; an evening of debauchery finished before it had even started. My last night of freedom ruined by this Beelzebub of a kitten. I rewrapped my prezzies and took the kitten home back in a cardboard box on the London Underground and then onto my parents' house the next day, deciding I could not leave it unattended with Sweetie The Stray for the next few days.
Well, I should have known Tigga was going to be serious trouble because the next night at my parents' home I put it back in its box hoping for a restful night's sleep before my Big Day. But no;
Meow, meow, scratch, scratch, meooooowwwww.....
Hours were passing...
Meow, meow, scratch, scratch...meooooowwwww....
Bags were appearing on my face, my energy was being sapped and I was beginning to look like Judy Finnegan. (Sorry folks; a UK in-house joke)Yep, I was becoming anxious I was going to look like a wrinkled old fossil. So against my better judgement, I decided I would just have to let Tigga out if I was to get any sleep at all and so with the kitten now content under the covers of my bed, I fell into a deep slumber...
The next morning I was putting on my bridal gown with the aid of my best friend when suddenly she screams...
"Oh my God Jane, what have you done to your back?!"
Yep, Tigga had scratched all down my back and somehow I'd slept through it; I looked like I'd had a night of passion with an overzealous lion.
Now ordinarily that wouldn't have mattered. But my wedding dress whilst being very conventional from the front, was a little more raunchy from the rear... it had a very low back. And well.... I looked like I actually had encountered the stripogram! Good heavens! What would all the maiden aunts say?
Tut, tut tut........naughty, naughty......whisper, whisper.....
Anyhow, my bridesmaid decided that it would be a good idea to try and cover it up with a heavy dose of foundation. ( Not my usual concrete mix but the brown stuff for faces.) Well, this seemed to be working well..... until....OH NO!.... my friend dropped the bottle of foundation down the back of my dress.... so now not only do I look scratched to death, I also look like ..... well.... I've had a problem with my colostomy bag......
I just hoped nobody noticed.......
Anyway, needless to say this was the beginning of Tigga'a relentless need to persecute me; bite my legs and toes, wake me, wake my children, stick her bottom in my face, lick my hair, crawl under the duvet, scratch the carpets, stairs, the doors, the sofa and ME. In fact, I am convinced she is the living incarnation of The Devil. And the most annoying thing is that she sleeps nearly all day and then at night as soon as my head touches the pillow she appears from nowhere to my cries of...
I've tried everything over the years to placate her. Nothing works.
I AM A VICTIM OF A CAT!
Somebody help me pleeeeeeasssseeeeeee......
Copyright Jane Turley 2009.
Ps I apologise to Master SY for writing a post about cats - a pet hate of his. (If I may use that term.....he, he, he.....)
Friday, February 6, 2009
Ahhhhhhhh..... The Cat from Hell
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
Less is More (well that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it)
I've been practising my haikus, which you may recall, I'm not particularly good at. However, I wanted to address the woke issue in a...
Many years ago, I read Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks. It's a terrific, emotive book that now sits on school syllabuses alongside other p...
An ex-secret service agent with a personality problem and a desire for imperial glory. An aged president who looks like he's got a giant...
Friends, Romans, Bloggers lend me your ears! ’Cos the Mad Housewife needs to change her blog name. I know, I know, I should have done my hom...
You poor thing you!!no shelter you can send him off to? Surely your boys won't mind? Rather sleepy. So can't come up with any brilliant suggestions!ReplyDelete
You poor thing. Have you thought about seeing a kitty counselor? ")"ReplyDelete
I'm just too soft Sue. I can't do it! No matter how tired I am. I just can't think anyone else would put up with it - although whether she would be like this with someone else I don't know - Mr T doesn't have the same problem - everything is for my benefit! I don't think she has ever got over the young masters arriving and has made it her lifelong ambition to take revenge on me!
She's 18 years old now so I eventually nature will take its course - although apparently some cats live till their 25/6!!
A kitty counsellor? Is that for me or for her?! Hmmm...some people do say I need counselling:)
I'm sorry to hear about your fish - what you need is a cat to solve your problem!(Although not one like mine.)
That was a very naughty link you know! Sorry, I can't put here!
I love your blog and had to say that you are not the only one with Cats/Kittens like that. I wish I could tell you that all of the grow out of it like my darling Sooty, but that it not the case.
My mum has 3 and they are all mental.... We know your pain.
Loved this post Jane, especially 'concrete mix'! We call it war paint, but same stuff. I'm putting the solution to your problem on my blog today for you. what are friends for?ReplyDelete
No mercy on this end.ReplyDelete
My cat greets me every morning in my bed about 5:00.
The other cat in the house, which my mother bought for herself, is now becoming attached to me.
I'm now tortured daily with two cats.
Thank you for the compliment on my blog. It's great to know people out there are enjoying it.
If only Tigga had grown up but as she has grown older I think her screw has loosened even more!
Pain is exactly the right word; my sympathy to your mum!
Ah yes, we have war paint Down South too. Although war paint is more when a gal is "on the pull" - concrete is what she uses when she's suceeded.
That piccy is the perfect solution; many a time I've dreamt of tossing them out the window. If it wasn't for Constable C's CCTV....
Well I feel marginally better knowing I am not the only one suffering at the claws of these Devil's cats.
I'm just glad I didn't live in Ancient Egypt - the thought of having to worship them is just too much....it's bad enough them wearing those damn sparkly collars....
I once sheltered a feline who was the Spawn of Satan disguised as an otherwise harmless little kitty.ReplyDelete
He would have put Rosemary's Baby to shame.
At any rate, I have an award for you at my blog Mrs. T.
I am having a little trouble here - this cat of yours seems like a twin of my Dog. How could this ever have happened?ReplyDelete
And I know exactly why it isn't easy to get rid of them - a bit of a bleeding hearty and a lot of masochism. And how can I explain this to anyone else who has the simple solution that I send her off to an animal shelter.
I know You will understand.
Much love from a dog victim to a cat victim.
(oh BTW, that mention about Kevi is that the costner boy? If yes, why do we have to like the same boys?)
Mrs T...I am SHOCKED. And when I say shocked, I mean comparable to licking the big chunk of metal I just shoved in the live part of the plug socket.ReplyDelete
That poor poor kitty. My 3 cats wake me up at night because they want my attention...but they do it because I am super-cool-awesome-bloke-daddy-of-a-cat dude. And maybe they see you in the same way! Which OK, they see you as a bloke/daddy/dude which...erm...well, is there something you need to tell us?
And now I have to put the word "turtser" in to that verification box below. Choosing you own verification codes now are we Mrs Turley?
Thank you for the award! I shall be making a formal acceptance speech later.
The Spawn of Satan... I like it! It has just the right ring about it...
Ps..as one Catholic (well sort of) check out my friend The Eye Wit's latest post on my blog roll...it is hysterical - I only wish he wrote more often (too busy on FB)
Yeah I understand. Hell on earth. Take for example today...I was feeling slightly blue so I thought I take a bath and chill out. I left the door open as no one else is in the house - The Cat from Hell comes in and drops one.... Oh the sweet smell of Eau de Pussy. And if that wasn't enough it promptly leaves and throws up outside the bathroom... now I feel even more blue.....
Mmm...Mr Costner. Lovely...need I say more? He has a gorgeous voice... puuuurrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!
Whilst Mrs T has many dark and mysterious secrets Master Sy none of them involve having a sex change! Mrs T is definately a "Mrs" and I have the thighs to prove it!ReplyDelete
But don't ask me to show you!
It would be quite nice to choose my own verification words... I can see something in that, Turtser.
Well if you dont feel the need to show us your thighs, then I am sure we will live with it. Although I think your self confessed cooking skills alone class you in the more "man" region...so you may want to give us more of this proof you have...ReplyDelete
Can I call you Turtser from now on? Actually, if you put Turtser in to Google, you appear on the front page!
Now. What does allmenes mean as I have to type that now.
Hmm, delicious animals... and enough to make a vegetarian eat meat.ReplyDelete
Let me think about this:
cat = problem
cat + window = no problem.
As you mention in your first paragraph, defenestration is certainly the solution, except it's not a matter of you jumping, Mrs T.
That is an interesting hobby you have perfected there Master Sy. Are you bored today?ReplyDelete
Hmm..I'm not sure if Turley is that a great a surname. My maiden name was probably more interesting. But I definately don't want to be called Turster. It has a feel of.... well you know what...about it.....
PB, denfenestration!! Now that IS a good word. Alas, I've felt like jumping many a time or tossing kitty...
Not that it would solve much as we live in a bungalow.