A Losing Battle

Smudge of his own rug.

Smudge on his own rug.

Twice a day for twelve years, Smudge would diligently scratch my lounge or dining room rugs, and then roll over expecting me to pat his belly. Being told off did not stop the scratching, so I resorted to squirting him with water and used a herbal spray on the rugs, but the defiant moggie was not deterred. Recently, I found two rugs on sale to replace my old ones.

At first, spraying the new rugs with an unpleasant, herbal spray caused Smudge to abstain from his daily ritual. However, the smell even put me off from being in the room. Luckily, after 20 minutes it dissipated. The smarty paws was now on the look-out for alternative scratching material, and much to my horror and  consternation, the bedroom mats are constantly shredded.

Smudge has always had his own small rug in front of the lounge room heater. Currently, it is treated the same as the bedroom ones.

By scratching, I know the big mog is marking his territory, but there is a scratching post inside and a huge gum tree outside for sharpening his claws.

Evil moggie.

Evil moggie.

The evil fluff-ball is testing me and I caught him yesterday, heard him first, ripping fibres… His pupils were dilated and he was manically working those claws. Yes, it was one of my new rugs. I chased him off—this was unacceptable behaviour—but as usual, it didn’t make any impression and later he was trying again.

The Human.


Uncomfortably Close

Smudge stretching up on fridge. Check out those claws.

Smudge stretching up on the fridge. Check out those claws.

Being ignored is catastrophic for Smudge because I am studying again. He would love to have my attention 24/7. While I sit at the desk working, he stretches up and taps my thigh with a splayed paw. A claw gets caught in the bottom of my jumper and Smudge tries to pull away. The more he tugs his claw is further stuck in the knit. I am not happy as it’s a new jumper. His eyes are now dilated and I anticipate ‘Ninja’ antics.

Literally I am connected to my cat. To disengage the connection I lean over, but it doesn’t help. Think, think. Next I proceed to roll off the chair and am left crouching on the rug. Not wanting to be slashed by his free ‘Ninja’ paw or bitten, I stretch out part of my jumper so he can release his claw.

Evil cat.

Evil moggie. Look at his eyes.

Yay, it works and I breathe deeply. From previous experience, I had forgotten how hazardous studying has become. Owh! Just been nipped on the ankle. Smudge scoots out of the room, but returns within minutes. He’s sitting close, looking up with those eyes and extends his paw again.

The Human.

P.S. Would love to hear any demanding cat stories.

Just Weird


Me. The human can’t get me to show my fangs.

Every morning and night the human brushes her fangs and bubbles come out of her mouth. I think she’s about to turn feral, but it doesn’t happen. She laps up water and the bubbles disappear. That’s weird! Only fur balls come out of my mouth and sometimes drool, when I’m snoozing. The human wrinkles her face if I breathe on her, especially after I’ve eaten something fishy. She always gives me crunchy things to finish my breakfast and dinner.

The small water bowl where the human brushes her fangs.

The small water bowl where the human brushes her fangs.

Each day I wait for her to come out of the giant water bowel where water falls from the wall, so I can have a drink. The human steps onto a mat and shuffles over to the small water bowl where she brushes her fangs, but if I’m sitting on the mat, she can’t move it. I’m no lightweight!

My toes are small, but the ones on her mitts are ginormous. It’s easy for her to pick-up and carry things, but I can only carry a toy mouse or a wriggling bird in my mouth. (The bird thing doesn’t happen much now).

I’m curious as to why humans are mostly furless, maybe that’s why they cover their bodies and hind paws with cloth and things to keep warm and toasty. If I pounce and nip her soft, chewy toes or chunky legs, the human always make a loud noise. It is so much fun, but she doesn’t think so.

Humans do strange things and are funny looking, but are always entertaining.







My luxurious coat.











Grooming is important to me, but bringing up a furball is not fun and immediately I gulp it back down, so when the human wants to brush me, I am very happy. It is purrfect when she gets to that hard to reach place at the base of my tail. I drop to my side purring and reckon she has removed a furball or two, but if I try to groom her, she pushes me away.

The human throws me a ball and I swipe it back. Lying there waiting for her to find it—while she scrambles under furniture and crawls across the floor—is hilarious. Also too, when I hang around the front door she’ll come running. I saunter outside then quick as a mouse, I’m back banging on the mesh. The human groans and lets me in. I turn around again and whack the door.

Back of the couch.

Back of the couch.








Most of the time she obeys my commands, but sometimes she ignore me and doesn’t like me doing things, like scratching behind the couch. I love scraping my claws down and the sound it makes. The human wants me to use the post covered in rug pieces instead, and crouches on all fours to show me how to scratch it, but it’s more fun trying to swipe and pounce on her big mitts. She yells out when I get her, scaring me.


My shredders.

My shredders.









The human keeps me entertained and fits into my routine. I do miss her when she is away.



The Right One and Away

Contented Smudge.

Contented Smudge.

Last year when I returned from my trip I received an unenthusiastic reaction from Smudge. At short notice, I had found another house-sitter and was relieved. This sitter ticked all the boxes, except she wasn’t a ‘cat person’. Smudge tolerated the stranger and became rotund, because he hung out all day in the hall cupboard snoozing.

After 30 hours of travelling with little sleep, I had arrived home late minus my backpack. It was on a flight to another country. Tentatively, Smudge sniffed my hand, accepted a pat and then stomped outside without looking back. This wasn’t the welcome I had anticipated. He didn’t return until breakfast the next day.

Plaza in Cartagena, Columbia. Piccy from phone.

Plaza in Cartagena, Columbia. Piccy from phone.

This time after extensive selections and meetings, I found a sitter who loved cats. Upon returning, instead of Smudge’s disdain and refusal to play hide and seek chasey with me for three weeks, (last year’s punishment), I arrived home to a moggie who purred like a re-charged mower, circled my ankles and offered a sleek body for big hugs. Later, Smudge snuggled up on the bed.

The Human

Best Shot

Waiting patiently for Tofu.

Tired waiting  for Tofu.








Smudge shimmies his tail after dashing out the front door and scampering up the driveway. He has a crush on Tofu, the kitty across the road, but she isn’t in her usual spot lounging on the roof of her owners’ car.

Morning or night when he can, Smudge waits in the bushes and driveway hoping that Tofu will appear. He has already had two short-term liaisons. This potential moggie tryst has been going for awhile. (See previous post, ‘Love Hurts And A New Bed’). Smudge seems to skip when I mention Tofu’s name, but she usually snubs his attention by continually grooming herself or sleeping. Something has to change. Am I the catalyst who gets them together now that I’m feeding Tofu with her owners away?

Outside, Smudge circles my legs and rolls over. He enjoys a pat, but his eyes are focused ahead. Leaving him, I saunter across the road and Tofu appears offering her belly for a rub, keen to show Smudge that his human is patting her. I can’t see his reaction, then Smudge disappears.


Still waiting for his crush.








With a key I open the garage door. Tofu scoots in and crunches her dry snacks while I open a wet, food sachet. In a few seconds it’s gone. Will Smudge soon feel fuzzy inside and be purrfectly happy? Of course not!

Tofu - Smudge's crush.

Smudge’s crush.









My neighbours are back. When Tofu makes an appearance she continues to ignore her admirer from across the road. Bad luck Smudge, time to find another kitty.

The Human.



I’m blending in so the human won’t find me!

Being a hefty moggie, you would think that Smudge has a deep, penetrating miaow, but surprisingly the fluffball produces soft, high-pitched sounds, similar to descending notes. ‘Ma-ah’ is his morning greeting, although he sounds more like a toddler to me. Then there’s his short, gentle trill, or more exactly a ‘brriil,’ as if he’s saying, ‘What’re you doing? C’mon, let’s play.’ If I accidentally stand on his tail I get the piercing ‘Miaowh,’ or a lower, long-winded version when we are travelling in the car to see the vet, Dr Hindmarsh. In contrast, Smudge’s purr is a deep rumble.


Hope she leaves me in peace.

Cats are known for their superior hearing compared with humans, but Smudge often demonstrates selective deafness when:  I ask him to ‘come here,’ I order him to stop sharpening his claws on the rug—immediately he goes into Ninja mode and scratches faster—and if I require him to do something. After repeating a request several times I get no positive response, so I clap my hands and yell, “Hey, you with the big fluffy tail.’

Smudge literally stops for a second, his kohl-rimmed eyes turn to slits. ‘What?’ He will continue to shred fibres or ignore me.

I’m fascinated how we communicate with word associations and objects. Smudge knows, ‘dinner’, ‘breakfast’, ‘nigh-nighs’, ‘crunches’ and more… but it’s through his body language, that I feel I can interpret his emotions and intent, or not.

When Smudge frantically lashes his tail, I know I’m in trouble.

The Human