Monthly Archives: October 2013

Never Completely Trust Your Human

Get this off.

Get this off.

Sometimes the human becomes feral and does the unthinkable. When snoozing, she will sneak up from behind and fling a rug over my head and body, grabbing me. Kicking and squirming, I’ll try to escape from her clutches, before she is stuffing me into a cage. My dangling paws grip the edges until she unlatches each leg and shoves me in, snapping the door shut. The human takes me in her fast moving container to see Dr Ringworth, not my favourite human. Arriving, she lugs the cage against her leg and I’m jolted around.

We enter a big place. My heart thumps as there are strange smells and can you believe it, scumbag dogs too. Instead of Dr Ringworth, we see Dr Jo. I dig my claws into the bottom of the cage, but Dr Jo pulls me out. Shaking, I am bear-hugged by the human while Dr Jo pokes, prods and stabs me with a sharp stick. I jump and turn around, sinking my fangs into her hand.

‘@##*&#,’ she yells, as I dart into an opened, shiny cupboard. The human’s mouth is open. Dr Jo drags me from my hidey spot, putting me back into the cage and I’m happy to go home.

One time I was badly hurt after a fight, so the human left me here. It was horrible… I didn’t think she was coming back. Another visit, Dr Ringworth attached a big thing around my neck. It was unbearable… I couldn’t lick the slash on my head or wash my face. It was hard holding my head up. I’d keep bumping into things and it was impossible to eat unless the human stacked my food bowl on something high, so I could thrust my face into the bowl. How embarrassing! What unspeakable thing has your human done to you?



More Dr Jekyll Than Mr Hyde

Manic moggie... Not very attractive.

Manic moggie…
Not very attractive.

Smudge Followers,

There is evidence of criminal activity, with claw marks etched into the re-upholstered couch. I’m not happy.

I find the culprit in the lounge room mucking around. Sprawled across the rug and with a right paw, Smudge whops a miniature ball across the room.

He reverts to a pounce—head thrust forward, chin on the floor, tail straight and pupils dilated— full like the moon. Smudge sprints forward, batting the ball soccer style between front paws unit it rolls under the cabinet. He sniffs the bottom of the cabinet, then bounds over, curving his body around the lower half of his scratching post, claws extended with a glint in his eyes.

I throw a small stuffed toy towards him. He skews it with a claw, chomps down and chews the body while clutching it between his paws, then pushes it away. Both Smudge’s eyes are focussed on my ankles. As he gets up, his velvet ears are now flat.

‘Don’t you even think about it.’ He hesitates…

Yesterday, Smudge had another altercation with the intruder cat and has been waiting for it to show up. I believe his excessive behaviour is due to frustration and what he would like to do to his nemesis.

However, in contrast, the big moggie can be hospitable and has brought home a young, male cat and dare I say it, a girlfriend, (but that’s another post). One night, while I was watching TV, Smudge sauntered in and plonked himself down opposite me.

Suddenly, a skinny, dark and cappuccino-cream striped cat appeared behind him. It stopped, surveying me. Smudge got up and proceeded to show his guest around the house. The cat followed so close behind, that I nicknamed him Shadow. I even offered our visitor some dry food. Shadow came to visit for three weeks, then I never saw him again. Smudge…

Yours truly,

The human.

PS  Smudge wanted to know if you liked his ‘About’ page.


Smudge in the garden.

Smudge in the garden.

Smudge followers,

Apologies, but the big moggie is occupied defending his territory—all fluff and bravado—from his younger nemesis. I’ll be writing this post.

He has portrayed me as not having too much between the ears and a pushover. The reality is:

I’m challenged. Being whacked, stood on and exposed to unpleasantries every morning (having Smudges’s backside thrust in my face with an upright tail) is intolerable—all for his early breakfast and territory patrol. After 15 minutes, he is back on the bed making himself comfortable.

That cat would make an excellent torturer/interrogator. Constantly, he headbutts my knees and his claws are lethal, especially when he is playing or sprawled out on his side. He lacks etiquette skills when it concerns humans.

In the beginning, if he behaved like a delinquent, he was banished to the toilet or marched outside, but Smudge didn’t mind being confined and caught up on some sleep, or was happy to romp and explore outside.

Now, if he does something unthinkable, I’ll raise my voice chastising him and he’ll slink off, banishing himself to the spare room until his behaviour has improved… but we still have quality time.

Our routine of hide and seek chasey sometimes extends into the backyard. While being pursued, Smudge’s face is exuberant with glee. His fuzzy, salami-shaped body takes off like a bullet down the steps, across the pavers and through the damp soil, until he scurries up a wide tree trunk.

That tree.

That tree.

The fork of the trunk is two metres high. If Smudge doesn’t get a sufficient run-up, he’s left vertically attached before a frantic scramble, releasing and sinking his claws again into peeling bark. Claw marks are etched into the trunk as he ungracefully slides down, before turning his head and plopping onto the ground. As he races past, Smudge’s head is lowered. He has retreated inside.

I follow, only to find a trail of muddy paw prints stomped throughout the house and imprinted on my light-blue doona. Perhaps I should have chosen a dog instead.

Yours truly,

The human.



Snug in a rug.

I used to snuggle up next to the human on her huge bed, but after awhile I’d retreat to the couch and curl up on my own rug as she made loud rumbles—must have been happy.

My other sleeping spots include the plush armchair, my own personal tent—I just fit in, but during the day, I bags the human’s bed wrapping myself up in the rugs. Sometimes it is hard, especially if she has folded a rug several times… I’ll paw at a fold opening it up, then slide my nose and head under, slowly wriggling my body until I’m covered. I’m not just a pretty face.

After my first early morning breakfast, I’ll be back to cosy up with the human until she gets up and leaves the covers open. Later, I’ll return and stretch out. If I hear her coming, I’ll bury my nose under the tip of my tail or place a paw over my eyes.

Hey, I’m trying to air the bed,’ the human exclaims. Sometimes she shoves me off, but if I look up wide-eyed, I usually get to stay there.

She has a routine of removing the sheets and replacing them with fresh ones. As quick as a mouse, I’ll leap up onto the bed before she shakes and spreads out a sheet, tucking in the edges.

‘Where’s Smudge? I can’t find him.’ She throws another sheet on top, then the cover.

It’s heavy and dark underneath—pretty cosy—but after awhile I can’t breathe. I bulldoze through, clawing and headbutting my way out. Flopping onto the floor, I give my body a good shake before sauntering off. That was so cool!