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Pets: Cats or Dogs....?

Jad

Member
Which do you prefer to keep for a pet. As a girl growing up at home my family had a dog (but that's not the subject of this thread). We had two cats from the time we first got married. We got them as newly weaned kits. They're both gone now and we miss them, so when I found this (below) in an old file in my documents, having used it in another forum (now defunct). It reminded me of the time I actually had to give one of our cats a pill. There may be a bit of exaggeration involved, but not all that much. Trust me.

HOW TO GIVE YOUR CAT A PILL:
1) Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
3) Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.
4) Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear
paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.
6) Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap.
Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill inside end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.
9) Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink 1 beer to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10) Retrieve cat from neighbour's shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door onto neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink. apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whisky compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw Tee shirt away and fetch clean, unshredded one from bedroom.
12) Call fire brigade to retrieve the f------ cat from tree across the road. Apologise to neighbour who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil-wrap.
13) Tie the little b**tard's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of steak fillet. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
14) Consume remainder of Scotch. Get spouse to drive you to A & E, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and remove pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.
15) Arrange for RSPCA to collect "mutant cat from hell" and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.

HOW TO GIVE A DOG A PILL:
1) Wrap it in cheese.
 

Mowl

Member
Originally a dog lover myself, I met and fell in love with a very unusual cat. Her name was Mishka and she was a full-blooded pure Norwegian Wild Cat who lived at my shorty's house out in the leafy suburbs. She rarely came indoors and slept in a cardboard box on the veranda next to the boiler for the indoor sauna. She wasn't mad about people at all and I was warned not to touch her or play with her but we had a great relationship over the year and a half I knew her.

She also went hunting but rarely brought her kills into the house. Sometimes you might find a dead mouse or bird in the garden, but not much of them as she ate the soft flesh and discarded the rest. She did most of her hunting in the forest beyond the back garden and she'd be out there most of the day, only coming back in the evening as the darkness grew. She'd eat some cat food but never finished a whole meal. She hunted for food. She was very loving when you treated her right but if you fucked around with her, she'd tear the skin off you.

On one occasion, I was just arriving to the family home one evening and there was a guest visiting: he took a look at Mishka's dreadlocks and decided she'd be happier without them as they were snagging on low branches and there were twigs in her coat. The guy had a few on him and I told him to stop but he insisted and picked her up, held her by the scruff and started shearing at one of the bigger matted dreads. Mishka hung for a moment, but when the guy started cutting, she slashed him across the face and he bled out. She was gone in a nanosecond. The bloke now had a bloody face and his hands started to itch from the powder in her coat: wild cats exude this powder like dandruff - only it's toxic and will give you a severe rash.

The guy learned his lesson and I was thrilled to see her defend herself. One stroke and she was free.

But she was old and her eyesight was beginning to diminish so we took her to the vet who basically said it was natural, she was old, she lived a long life. Her time was up. The hardest part was the simple reality that she would, one day - just wander off out into the forest and curl up and wait for death. But the thoughts of her being taken by a fox or a dog was too much and instead she was put to sleep after a last and very beautiful day with all of us and me feeding her strips of raw beef steak, one of which contained a crushed up sedative which she lapped up and then she took a nap in her box afterwards.

We managed to get the box into the car and she slept all the way to the vet.

I couldn't watch the shot being administered but I did say a final goodbye to her before she was cremated and the ashes scattered in the back garden under a small flat piece of wood I painted her name on and hung one of her dreadlocks. It was a very sad evening and I cried openly. As did all of us. She lived a full and complete life, had many babies in her time but she rejected them all. They all found new homes and she stayed put.

It broke my heart to let her go, but keeping her alive meant she'd suffer badly in the end - something would have her for lunch if she went as she was born to: alone and in the forest. I think we did the right thing but I also know I'll never forget her. She was a unique spirit, a natural born predator with a soft spot for an Irish boy. I keep one of her dreads here for myself, one she allowed me to shear off. I'll always have it, and she'll always be the one cat I ever loved.

Isn't she beautiful?

Those eyes felt like they were looking into my very soul; there'll never be another like her.

mik-2.jpg
 

Mowl

Member
People say that pets begin to resemble their owners, and vice versa.

But Mishka? She was a character unto herself, totally unlike any domestic pet I've ever known.

I was Daddy to two dogs in our family home: the first was a stray who I met up along the Grand Canal out beyond the seventh lough when it was still marshland. A fluffy guy who was clearly starving and in need of some care, so I took him home and gave him a bath and asked Mamif he could stay for a while and get himself back together again. Mam okayed it, but I had to take care of him - he was my dog.

First she asked if he had fleas, he didn't , thankfully. Then she asked of he had any ID at all - nope, nothing.

So what are you going to call the silly mutt?

Mutt - of course.

And so Mutt became legend in lower Ballyer - 'Mutt? MUTT? Where the fuck are you, you silly Mutt??!'

He lasted another two years and had to be put to sleep: he was very old under all that shaggy hair.

Next was the night Elvis died: Dad brought me a Yorkshire terrier, Jack Russell - a tiny little ball of joy. As soon as Dad took him out of his pocket he took off at lightning speed, skirting the walls of the lounge - round and round he went like a mad thing. Then Dad looked at the news: The King Is Dead.

Dad was dumbstruck, shocked like I was when Lennon got shot. He wanted to name the dog Elvis, but I wasn't having any of it. I called him Toby, he was a real pal. Easy to train, very smart, would respond to command immediately, and he loved nothing more than to take a nap while I cuddled him in my lap. He lived on after I left home at eighteen, Mam wouldn't let him go, he was too old to get used to a new life, so I was sad not to have him with me but happy that he still had the run of the house and gardens. He lived for twenty years and was put to sleep and cremated. We dug a hole in the back garden, laid him in it, shoveled some clay over him, and then planted an apple blossom over him. That tree lasted a couple of decades but eventually had to be injected with poison: the roots had grown under the kitchenette and were fucking with the foundations and pipe-works.
 
OP
J

Jad

Member
That's a very touching story, Mowly, and it's not a million miles from how our family dog demised.

We had him from a pup. He was a purebred Harlequin Great Dane. Mum went barmy when we brought him home "Have you any idea how big that dog is going to grow..?" When asked why we'd chosen him, I had to put my hand up and say it was my choice, although supported by my sisters and dad. At the breeders we were shown all the dogs, but he came over and licked my hand. We fell in love with him on the spot.

We named him Dino, after Fred Flintstone's pet dinosaur because we knew how big he was going to get. And he did. Fed on chicken, tripe and special biscuits every day (he bloody wolfed it down), which is the recommended diet for Danes, he became very large, very quickly.

Although he was the family dog, he gravitated towards me. I walked him every day before and after school and made sure he had everything he needed (although dad paid). He would wait by the front door for me to come home from school and I'd be leapt on and licked to death until I said "OK, let's find your lead".

He had personality. If there was anything he shouldn't do, he did it. But you couldn't not love him for it. He was fiercely protective of the family. We were his pack and the home was his turf. Visitors felt his presence in their lives whenever they came into the house, at least until he grew to know and trust them.

His farts could clear the room. Jeezus..... they were horrible. He knew what he'd done, and he knew we knew it was him. But he always tried to look so innocent.

But he grew old and infirm. As is often the case with Danes, they get to a point where their legs are no longer strong enough to support their body weight and that happened to him. The decision was made. The entire family took the journey with him to the vet's and we did have a chance to say goodbye. We all gave him a hug and he licked our hands. He knew it was his time.

I sat outside in the waiting room while dad and mum went in with him. When they came out, Me and my sisters were crying our eyes out. I cried for days.

I think I was devastated far worse at the loss of Dino than I was at my grandparents. Losing them was bad enough, but losing Dino was more openly emotional. I always considered him to be MY dog.

For that reason, I won't have another dog. Not that I couldn't love one, but because I couldn't bear the pain of losing one again.
 
OP
J

Jad

Member
We had a pup who was a purebred Harlequin Great Dane. Mum went barmy when we brought him home "Have you any idea how big that dog is going to grow..?" When asked why we'd chosen him, I had to put my hand up and say it was my choice, although supported by my sisters and dad. At the breeders we were shown all the dogs, but he came over and licked my hand. We fell in love with him on the spot.

We named him Dino, after Fred Flintstone's pet dinosaur because we knew how big he was going to get. And he did. Fed on chicken, tripe and special biscuits every day (he bloody wolfed it down), which is the recommended diet for Danes, he became very large, very quickly.

Although he was the family dog, he gravitated towards me. I walked him every day before and after school and made sure he had everything he needed (although dad paid). He would wait by the front door for me to come home from school and I'd be leapt on and licked to death until I said "OK, let's find your lead".

He had personality. If there was anything he shouldn't do, he did it. But you couldn't not love him for it. He was fiercely protective of the family. We were his pack and the home was his turf. Visitors felt his presence in their lives whenever they came into the house, at least until he grew to know and trust them.

His farts could clear the room. Jeezus..... they were horrible. He knew what he'd done, and he knew we knew it was him. But he always tried to look so innocent.

But he grew old and infirm. As is often the case with Danes, they get to a point where their legs are no longer strong enough to support their body weight and that happened to him. The decision was made. The entire family took the journey with him to the vet's and we did have a chance to say goodbye. We all gave him a hug and he licked our hands. He knew it was his time.

I sat outside in the waiting room while dad and mum went in with him. When they came out, Me and my sisters were crying our eyes out. I cried for days.

I think I was devastated far worse at the loss of Dino than I was at my grandparents. Losing them was bad enough, but losing Dino was more openly emotional. I always considered him to be MY dog.

For that reason, I won't have another dog. Not that I couldn't love one, but because I couldn't bear the pain of losing one again.
 

DS86DS

Staff member
Administrator
Member
Do you think too many cats can be bad for local wildlife, for small birds in particular?
 
OP
J

Jad

Member
Do you think too many cats can be bad for local wildlife, for small birds in particular?

Feral cats are a problem but most domesticated felines that hunt only do so out of instinct rather than necessity. If the local habitat supports fauna adequately there's no reason why cats should cause a serious imbalance.

Feral cats are another matter altogether. When I lived in Portsmouth, there would be a cull of feral cats in the navy dockyard there every five years or so. Feral cats (aka "Dockyard Moggies") are allowed to breed and roam free around the naval base and surrounding areas because they control vermin, which is a problem in the seaport area. And apparently, they're very good at it. But there are two things the navy is wary of.

1. Don't get too close to one. They don't like humans and will have a go at anybody. Just leave them to roam as they will and stay well clear.
2. They breed like the plague and their numbers can get out of hand. The MOD orders a cull every five years or so to reduce them.

We live in a rural area and the habitat for wild creatures such as aves, and rodentia such as mice, field voles and other small prey is sufficient to keep most cats hunting instincts satisfied. There is plenty of coastal birdlife that is mostly out of the reach of cats, but small birds such as Chough, Starling and sparrows will naturally fall prey to cats. There doesn't seem to be any concern among the RSPB though so I'm assuming nature is taking its course satisfactorily.
 

Mowl

Member
Our biggest problem up here is with the hares and rabbits. They're fucking huge too, the hares. Like foxes, they come around at the evening time and their favourite food is the bark from the younger trees, so we have to enclosed the boughs with chicken wire to keep them off. They're easiest to spot in the winter, their feet leaving a trail of footprints to illustrate their roaming habits.

They're kind of dumb too: if a hare spots you coming, he'll stand really still and pretend he's invisible. If you do the same, he'll engage you in a staring match until you break gaze. If you approach while still staring, he'll remain motionless until you're within a few meters, then they're off like the clappers.

We do a cull down the docks every few years too. The beginning of the motorway passing out from the city to the suburbs is always covered in roadkill.

You can get very close to them if you're on a bike - for some reason they're not threatened when you cycle into the middle of a gang-load of them.
 
Do you think too many cats can be bad for local wildlife, for small birds in particular?
I saw a programme on BBC a few years ago when I was 32. It showed a few domestic cats being real nice at home with their
elderly women owners and then they would sneak out into the night. The males would fight for the females to mate with.
They hunted poor little cutie birds too. They lived two lives one inside and one outside.
 
Wow. What a massively exciting life you must lead.
Coming from school with my siblings. Passing a house. You blame the victim, it was a shock and sore for a while.
I learned a few things at school, obviously you didn't.

Any ways there was a man called John Smith who used to cycle and walk past the place going to town and he bit him too.

He went home and cooked a sausage nice and brown and laced it with strychnine. He threw it where the dog was. He eventually
picked it up and made off with it. That was the last of then dog. I believe its is a very painful death
 
Which do you prefer to keep for a pet. As a girl growing up at home my family had a dog (but that's not the subject of this thread). We had two cats from the time we first got married. We got them as newly weaned kits. They're both gone now and we miss them, so when I found this (below) in an old file in my documents, having used it in another forum (now defunct). It reminded me of the time I actually had to give one of our cats a pill. There may be a bit of exaggeration involved, but not all that much. Trust me.

HOW TO GIVE YOUR CAT A PILL:
1) Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
3) Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.
4) Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear
paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.
6) Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap.
Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill inside end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.
9) Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink 1 beer to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10) Retrieve cat from neighbour's shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door onto neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink. apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whisky compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw Tee shirt away and fetch clean, unshredded one from bedroom.
12) Call fire brigade to retrieve the f------ cat from tree across the road. Apologise to neighbour who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil-wrap.
13) Tie the little b**tard's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of steak fillet. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
14) Consume remainder of Scotch. Get spouse to drive you to A & E, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and remove pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.
15) Arrange for RSPCA to collect "mutant cat from hell" and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.

HOW TO GIVE A DOG A PILL:
1) Wrap it in cheese.
What about chocolate?
 
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