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Tag Archives: CATS

Things that make you go “whaaaaaaaat?”

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So it’s only Wednesday and already Luke (not to be confused with Matthew or Katy) Perry has died.  As has Prodigy legend, Keith ‘twisted firestarter’ Flint.


Forget the obligatory Firestarter clip of your man Keith smacking himself about the head in a sewer somewhere.  This clip is the only one you ever need to see. Stick with it. The Goose makes it.  Keef’s Camping Review

I have been feeling pretty rough this week.  We can invent ever more witchcraft-like phones and apps for just about anything, but we can’t yet cure a common coldI’ve been doing a fair bit of laying around under a duvet on the settee as a result of the ineffectiveness of the old lemsip.  One of the things I watched while prone in pjyamas and awaiting death with tissue paper stuck up my nose, was the Netflix documentary Abducted in plain sight’.  About a girl abducted, twice, as a child by the same man.
I urge you to watch it and I defy you not to say “WHAAAAAAAAAT?” at least once. No spoilers but I guarantee you will also feel like parent of the year.

As an antidote to the news stories of celebrity deaths and questionable parenting decisions, I was hopeful of a miracle local news story yesterday lunchtime when Look North promised a story on a cat who diagnosed its owner’s hidden cancer.

Eagerly I shushed Bman at the crucial moment, not wanting to miss a word of this incredible tale.  Did the cat mew at its owner, gently pawing a particular area of her body? Did it then click open the laptop with the cancer page of Web MD open in the browser?  Did the cat sport a white coat and stethoscope?


Courtesy of google images



The lady had suffered many a symptom, which she had chosen to ignore. Then the cat jumped on her lap as cats are wont to do, and it hurt her belly slightly so her hubby made her go to the GP.


This is news?  Cat sits on owner – SHOCKER!

Glad the lady is now ok and everything but fuck me what a lame story.

At least it made a change from another Brexit story.


Courtesy of google images

Eye Eye, Ear Ear.

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He’s back! Not quite as we know it, but he’s back.  Not quite the same pussycat but not in a terrifying way like that one on Stephen King’s Pet Semetary. He hasn’t tried to eat our faces off yet. He hasn’t tried to eat anything TBH.
I am feeding him through his feeding tube with what seems to be some kind of Dunns River nourishment drink for cats.  He mostly lies around, not moving and looking very very sorry for himself. But wouldn’t you if you could only see out of one eye and had a tube dangling from your neck held in place with a bandage covered in pictures of tractors?



I have to be Nurse Radchett to his Randle McMurphy, doling out his meds and twiddling about with his tubes and bandages and lubricating his special eye.



The pair of us have been sleeping on the couch downstairs.  Him with his lethargy & gimpiness and me with my special ears.  This is the collection of unguents and medications I have accrued over the last week to try and sort my swim ear out. Had to go into the chemist and ask for the strongest painkiller they could legally sell me.  The full Ant McPartlin/ Matthew Perry package. 



One of the things has come from America, from Amazon. Seemingly it’s no longer available in the UK. Quite possibly for the same reason you can’t just walk into a store here and buy pepper spray like you can over there.  I tried some in my bad ear and it felt like when you inhale sharply after eating wasabi and you briefly have 20/20 vision and can see the future.  Like someone had stuck a lit sparkler in my ear canal!  When I checked the ingredients I saw that it was 95% alcohol!

Here’s to both of us being back to 100% soon.  Meanwhile we’re both watching 22 July on Netflix – a dramatization of Anders Breivik’s lunatic attack on Oslo and Utoya island. Terrifying stuff. What a fookin’ nutter!  Be wary kids. Not everyone is who they say they are, just because they’re dressed as a policeman or wearing a Hi-Vis.

On that chilling note, I’ll leave you there while I go and administer more kerosene to my ear.


Ciao Ciao


PS:  Oh. BTW.  Pet insurance.  You need that shit.  So far Alan has cost around £3K (luckily he is covered) but Bman could have got a new car for that!

That’s at least 1 life gone!

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My little baby big fat man cat, Alan Lickman is hospitalized and slowly eating into the meager savings we have, while he has his smiley face repaired.



Cat Vs Taxi


Got a call at 1:30am Sunday morning from the local PDSA saying someone had brought him in after finding him on the road nearby.  They weren’t sure he would survive, so after waking Bman, off we went in the wee small hours leaving the childerbeast unattended and hoping that they wouldn’t be carted off in a fireman’s lift in their PJs, never to be seen again.

Surreal experience of being at the vet’s at that time. Not helped by still being half asleep and the lady on the desk confusing us with some people who arrived at the same time with a sick dog. This led to us being ignored and left unsupervised in the reception area for quite some time. 

We couldn’t get back outside to ring the intercom buzzer and there was no bell or anything on the desk.  Resorted to calling out ghost hunt style. “Hallo. Is there anybody there?”  Eventually, someone appeared and we got to see him.  I say we – Bman isn’t right cracking at this type of thing. I have a slightly better constitution for the grisly and the messy – from being a mum, first aider and a primary school educator I guess. So I went in to see him to check out the damage first.

Poor little dude looked a right state.  Sloth from the Goonies sprung to mind! Was glad Bman didn’t see him in his gory glory.  His jaw was dislocated and he had a bit of a popeye going on and looked a bit of an actual bloody mess.  But alive! And aware that I was there despite being hopped up on methadone. (Him, not me).

Since then he’s been patched up and his jaw rewired. he’s pottering about a bit but being fed through a feeding tube.  They’re keeping him in for a few days still and I’m hoping to go visit him tomorrow,  take him some grapes and Lucozade and a comic – that kind of thing.  Wonder if he’ll be in one of those backless gowns with his butt hanging out?

I only hope I can track down the lady who took him to the PDSA because I think if he’d been left or run off when he was hit, that he would be brown bread in a bush somewhere.

Thank you, whoever you are.  Hopefully he will be home soon.









The end (of the hols) is nigh

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Found the cat taking great interest in the two man bobsleigh today. He had his feet up against the TV stand, transfixed and trying to look behind the TV every time the sleigh went round a corner. 

This prompted a conversation about cats taking part in Olympic sports.

And this most excellent of Photoshop effort from youngest Childerbeast.


The end of half term is upon us and not only is it the dreaded ‘back to work eve’ (aka Sunday) 😟 but it’s ‘back to work after a week off’ eve 😵


Bman is at work. Youngest is at her pal’s and going to a gig no less this evening. (Check your exits, stay near your pal’s dad, no booze, no drugs, text me when you get back to your pal’s).  Meanwhile the eldest and I are embracing the Year of the Dog by having a Chinese take-out later.

I might treat myself before that and do the ironing with a glass of the lovely bison grass vodka my mate brought me back from Poland.

Ciao Tutti Xx

Cat scratch fever

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Busted out the old lateral thigh trainer to trim down, in order to fatten up, for Christmas.  It’s very creaky. The neighbours will be wondering what’s occurring, particularly in light of the Bman being away!  Tonight I cranked up the tuneage to drown it out.  That’s right Bman. I’m using the mothercluckin’ stereo. I could leave it on all night and you’d never know. Along with the back door unlocked, the recycling in the wrong bin and the thermostat on turbo.


I digress… 

    … amplified tuneage calls of course, for a singalong while working out.  It’s been a while, but something about my dulcet tones seems to excite the cat.  She sat herself on the stool opposite me and went a bit psycho.   I like to think she’s rocking out along with me to ’18 & Life’,  ‘My Pony’ or ‘It’s Raining Men’ (I have eclectic taste – don’t judge me!)
In all likelihood she is probably screaming for help, or earplugs, or just wants to hurt me like that time she bit me on the nose when I was singing along to Adele.

Bang Bang

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Bloody fireworks do my head in. What with Diwali round here and Bonfire Night coming up, I’m constantly checking on the whereabouts of my cats.

    Bit chilly tonight to be stood on the doorstep in my scants, shaking my bag of cat biscuits (not a euphemism BTW) and shouting “Alan. Alan. Alan.”  and making kissy kissy noises. Which incidentally is the name of one of my neighbours, aswell as our cat. So I perhaps should’ve put a dressing gown on.


The fat moggy eventually trotted in, no doubt from scoffing supper at someone else’s house.

Cats do the dumbest things (just like their owners)

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Woke up this morning to find Pepper on the wrong side of the window, perched on the ledge, one storey up!   Miaowing & carrying on but making little effort to try & get back in.

Cue, my good self, perched on indoor side of the windowsill hanging my (not long enough) arm out the window, trying to coax her back in.

It was about 10 minutes into this farcical enterprise when the father  of an ex-student walked past & took an interest in proceedings, that I realized I was still only clad in knickers & vest!  Doubtless looking quite the picture from pavement level, where he was now passing comment about trying to ‘shake some treats out the window’.  At this juncture I decided I probably had enough treats shaking at the window as it was.

I tried dangling my curtains out the window (easy now) but the cat was having none of it. Resorted to the treat shaking and she eventually made a jump for it but changed her mind & refused to jump down on the inside.  I ended up rugby tackling her in as carefully as I could without crashing through the window myself.

Window now not quite as wide open, to prevent a repeat performance.

Fortunately Sadly no photographic evidence of my half-naked self pressed up against the double glazing. Unless ex-student’s dad took a cheeky snap. In which case it’s probably all over Facebook.