Tag Archives: claws

Bed Time Antics And Other High Jinks

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Smudge lounging on the bed.

After being stomped and prodded on this morning, followed by a fluffy tail placed strategically close to my face, I promptly got up. Half an hour later, I find Smudge still lounging on the bed contemplating his day.

He is a paradox—his actions both predictable and unexpected. Sometimes early morning, he will snuggle on the bed making himself comfy. Yesterday, as I rolled over on my side, Smudge bulldozed his way between a gap in the covers beside me. Turning around, he parked his head on the pillow, his body, hidden under the doona. The big mog has always been a connoisseur of comfort. He has numerous beds, his own rug and regularly uses my belly as a makeshift cushion. During winter, he hogs the heater.

Last night before getting ready for bed, I let Smudge out hoping that he’d do his business in the garden. Later, I checked the opened, front door, his usual sleeping spots, and called out his name several times. Ten minutes later, I found him hiding in the kitchen.

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Snoozing again and ‘those claws’.

I was typing this entry at my desk when Smudge reached up and spiked my thigh. Not happy! As he released his paw, a claw remained caught in my pants. The harder he pulled, the deeper it became embedded in the fabric. While trying to separate us, I slowly slid off the chair, but he kept tugging. I’m embarrassed to say that after dropping my pants, Smudge finally managed to draw his paw free.

The Human.

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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.

Compatible

 

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.

 

Miaow.