Cat eating sofa.
On Jul 6, 6:06*am, "Yowie" wrote:
*Now that our hearts have calmed down...
Pickle is an indoor outdoor cat now. Generally he goes out in the morning
and usually returns after
an hour or two of making sure the place is safe and secure. He'll sit
patiently by the back door and wait until someone notices him to let him
back in. Sometimes he'll go out two or three times in one day (depending on
how willing folks are to give him door service, but he's always back for
Pickle didn't closely supervise Fluffy's dinner & bed routine as he normally
does if he's already in the house. Therefore I thought he was still out.
When it was time for the cats to have dinner (Fluffy has to have hers first
or she'll snarf up the cat food in preference) I opened the back door to let
Pickle in. He wasn't there. I called 'Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle' as I
sometimes do. No luck.
(here's how I call Pickle:
On the off chance he was around the front instead, I went to the front door
and did the Pickle Siren Song. No Pickle.
Sometimes he's quite some way away and needs a few minutes to hurtle back
for dinner. So, I fed Suki & Shadow and tried again at both doors, this time
with the shaking crunchies box. No sign.
Pickle is not a stupid cat (unlike his brother) and I was reasonably
confident he had not got himself in too much trouble - it was cold outside
last night (all right, cold for *us*) and I figured perhaps he had aldready
holed up somewhere and didn't here me call. I hoped and trusted that he'd be
home the next morning.
Naturally I overslept this morning and didn't have time to do a search for
Pickle. Best I could do was call for him once (to no avail) and hop in the
car and go, bad hair day notwithstanding (now I remember why long hair is
better - even the worst bad hair day can be dealt with by a pony tail). I
rang Joel several times from work to see if Pickle had turned up, and no, he
I got home, shovelled down dinner and found a torch. Half an hour later I
had also found the appropriate sized batteries that still had a charge, and
went on a Pickle search up and down the street. I do realise that I looked
and sounded like an idiot calling "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle" and shaking
a kibble box up and down our street, but at least I wasn't in daggy old
flannel PJs and bunny slippers this time. Imagine a grown woman with Kibble
Box in one hand, PoohBear torch in the other, (it was the only torch and
battery combination that worked, and I had to beg Cary for it) yelling
http://members.optusnet.com.au/~drwatson/Sounds/Pickle1.wav at the top of
her lungs up and down the street. Not a pretty sight....
Still no Pickle. Joel and I were bemused by his absence and I was starting
"SHHH! Wait! Whats that?" Joel said suddenly. He turned off the TV and asked
The Yowlet to be quiet. The TV was obligingly mute, but Cary of course as
not "WHY DADDY????" he yelled.
"I thought I heard Pickle... very faintly... he must be outside".
Out I dashed again with both torch and hope, only to be dissapointed once
"Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle" I called again.
"MUMMY?", The Yowlet questioned at the top of his very healthy lungs,
Both of us answered "SHHH! Be Quiet!"
Cary, thinking he was in trouble, started to cry, which of course, entirely
failed to help.
After calming the poor boy down, we explained we had to be super extra
special quiet because we were trying to hear Pickle meow. If it was Suki or
Shadow we wouldn't have this problem of course, because they are both loud
meowers. VERY loud. Suki because she's deaf and can't hear herself, and
Shadow, well, she just likes 'singing', particularly at 3am.... but thats
another story. Pickle on the other hand has a very quiet 'mi' sound, barely
more than a kitten's mew, even when he's *starving*. No seranading his lady
loves from the rooftops for him (even if he did still have the bits that
would make him want to)
Finally, after singing "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle" several more times, I
too heard the faint 'mi' of a Pickle meow. It sounded like it was coming
from...OMG! The Kitchen!
I raced to the kitchen and opened every cupboard and drawer, fully expecting
a very anoyed Pickle to leap out.
Perplexed, I called out once again, "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle".
The Fridge? Surely not.
"Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle".
Again, a faint "Mi" from the general direction of the...
..of the sofa.
*Definately* coming from the sofa. But how?
Joel hopped up and removed the cushion and out popped a very relieved
stressed Pickle. He meowed his disgust once more and headed straight for the
door. I let him out and he ducked around the corner to do what a cat must
before heading straight back to the kibble bowl and wolfing down last
night's leftovers. He's now snoozing on my bed - a nice flat surface not
known for eating cats.
Now, I know that sofas often eat small change, and ours seems to have a
distinct predeliction for our remote controllers (particularly the A/C).
Ours also clearly favours pens, teaspoons and McDonald's fries, but a fully
grown *cat*? Surely not! But there it was, looking inconspicious, was a tear
in the fabric under the cushion, just big enough for an overly curious cat
to get through if he worked on it, but clearly not big enough to get back
out of when the cushion was pushed back, and certainly not big enough when
one or more of us was also lounging on said cushion and blocking all exits.
Pickle, I am quite sure, is now down to 8 lives. And will no doubt be very
wary of vicious cat eating sofas from now on.
If you're paddling upstream in a canoe and a wheel falls off, how many
pancakes can you fit in a doghouse? None, icecream doesn't have bones.
And you thought you didn't have any Schmogg-worthy b*stard cat tricks
to tell :-)
I think that one definitely qualifies! I can't believe Pickle was
there all the time,
listening to you calling her!