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#1
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Cat eating sofa.
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 dinner. *Always*. Not yesterday. 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 hadn't. 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 to worry. "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 more. "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle" I called again. "MUMMY?", The Yowlet questioned at the top of his very healthy lungs, "WHERE'S PICKLE?" 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. Nothing. Perplexed, I called out once again, "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". The Fridge? Surely not. Nope. "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". Again, a faint "Mi" from the general direction of the... ...of the sofa. WTF? "Mi?" *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. Yowie -- 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. |
#2
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Cat eating sofa.
"Yowie" wrote in message
... 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 dinner. *Always*. Not yesterday. 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 hadn't. 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 to worry. "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 more. "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle" I called again. "MUMMY?", The Yowlet questioned at the top of his very healthy lungs, "WHERE'S PICKLE?" 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. Nothing. Perplexed, I called out once again, "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". The Fridge? Surely not. Nope. "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". Again, a faint "Mi" from the general direction of the... ..of the sofa. WTF? "Mi?" *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. Yowie -- 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 just where was the Beverage Warning on this???? Good thing I had left my beverage in the other room, and my laptop only got a small spattering of early-morning spittle when I read "but at least I wasn't in daggy old flannel PJs and bunny slippers this time," (because THIS I could see in my mind), instead of a full-on mouthful-of-caffeinated-beverage spew. Oh, and when I read the subject line, I thought you were referring to a cat eating your sofa....and I saw, in my mind's eye, a large white cat (I know all 3 of yours are white) laying on a sofa arm, quietly nomming it in protest of not getting his/her gooshey food.... -- ^..^ This is Kitty. Copy and paste Kitty into your signature to help her wipe out Bunny's world domination. -- The ONE and ONLY lefthanded-pathetic-paranoid-psychotic-sarcastic-wiseass-ditzy former-blonde in Bloomington! (And proud of it, too)© email me at nalee1964 (at) comcast (dot) net http://community.webshots.com/user/mgcmdjeep |
#3
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Cat eating sofa.
Yowie wrote:
snips story regretfully You have a real talent for these stories! I couldn't stop reading until I found out what had happened to poor Pickle! I suppose he walked off with that air of "I really MEANT to do that!!" some cats have in such situations! Cheryl |
#4
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Cat eating sofa.
"Magic Mood Jeep" wrote in message
... "Yowie" wrote in message ... Now that our hearts have calmed down... "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". Again, a faint "Mi" from the general direction of the... ..of the sofa. WTF? "Mi?" *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. Yowie Oh, and when I read the subject line, I thought you were referring to a cat eating your sofa....and I saw, in my mind's eye, a large white cat (I know all 3 of yours are white) laying on a sofa arm, quietly nomming it in protest of not getting his/her gooshey food.... I thought the same thing! Persia rips up newspapers and boxes. It wouldn't surprise me one bit to find her eating the sofa if it didn't give her the comfort she's looking for Jill |
#5
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Cat eating sofa.
Yowie wrote:
snip 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. Yowie I'm so glad Pickle was okay. It's amazing how long they can hang on without using the litter box, I'm glad your sofa wasn't used for that purpose. -- Adrian (Owned by Snoopy, Bagheera & Shadow) Cats leave pawprints on your heart http://community.webshots.com/user/clowderuk |
#6
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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 dinner. *Always*. Not yesterday. 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 hadn't. 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 to worry. "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 more. "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle" I called again. "MUMMY?", The Yowlet questioned at the top of his very healthy lungs, "WHERE'S PICKLE?" 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. Nothing. Perplexed, I called out once again, "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". The Fridge? Surely not. Nope. "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". Again, a faint "Mi" from the general direction of the... ..of the sofa. WTF? "Mi?" *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. Yowie -- 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! Sherry |
#7
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Cat eating sofa.
"Yowie" wrote in message ... 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 dinner. *Always*. Not yesterday. 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 hadn't. 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 to worry. "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 more. "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle" I called again. "MUMMY?", The Yowlet questioned at the top of his very healthy lungs, "WHERE'S PICKLE?" 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. Nothing. Perplexed, I called out once again, "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". The Fridge? Surely not. Nope. "Pickle Pickle Pickle Pickle". Again, a faint "Mi" from the general direction of the... ..of the sofa. WTF? "Mi?" *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. Yowie -- 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. I think Pickle just passed his ******* Cat Qualifying Exam. -- Theresa and Dante Stinky Forever: http://pets.webshots.com/album/125591586JWEFwh |
#8
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Cat eating sofa.
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 dinner. *Always*. [snip hilarious story] I'm glad he's OK! I have to say I wasn't sure who would be eating whom in this story - was it about a sofa that ate a cat, or the other way around? Poor guy! -- Joyce ^..^ To email me, remove the XXX from my user name. |
#9
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Cat eating sofa.
In article ,
"Yowie" wrote: giggles snipped since I've reread it four times now 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. Leila is *not* an outdoor cat. When I leave the front door open because I have to go in and out for some reason, she scolds nervously until it's properly closed again: the Out is *big*! Now, the so-called Florida room and the garage are very obviously parts of Her House into which she should be allowed on demand. She can see the Florida room through the sliding glass doors - and the SO and I normally come in through the garage when we've been away, so she meets us at the kitchen door and knows that's a Room she's not allowed to visit - and Rooms are Indoors. Neither the SO nor I feel any desire to play hide-and-seek with a cat-sized person in a garage into which the vehicle is not allowed for a reason that should be obvious with a little thought. She does, however, have her comfy-caves in the house into which she disappears when a) she's not feeling social or b) Two-foots are being obnoxious about something. One is atop the hippie-pillows that are stored under one of the end tables in the living room. Another is on top of the old electric blanket that no longer works quite right and has been relegated to the top of a chest on the SO's side of the closet, where the clothes on their hangars make a proper cave roof. I do not know where the rest of 'em are, and won't go looking unless she doesn't appear for attention and/or food. A girl has to have *some* privacy, after all! Oh, hippie pillows? Those are the big ones for putting on the floor to sit on when we run out of chair and sofa space. Doesn't happen all that often, but they have come in handy from time to time. Of course, Leila is about ten years old by now - a respectable middle-aged lady, in fact (a description that caused the SO to snort in disbelief when I voiced it yesterday, for some reason). Baird -- In theory there is no difference between theory and practice. In practice there is. -Yogi Berra |
#10
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Cat eating sofa.
Baird wrote:
Leila is *not* an outdoor cat. When I leave the front door open because I have to go in and out for some reason, she scolds nervously until it's properly closed again: the Out is *big*! And it could suck her out into Itself. shudder Neither the SO nor I feel any desire to play hide-and-seek with a cat-sized person in a garage into which the vehicle is not allowed for a reason that should be obvious with a little thought. Totally obvious. Does anyone actually store their car in their garage? What, and waste all that storage space?? Of course, Leila is about ten years old by now - a respectable middle-aged lady, in fact (a description that caused the SO to snort in disbelief when I voiced it yesterday, for some reason). Was she snorting at being called middle-aged? Or respectable? Or at the idea that any middle-aged person could be considered respectable? -- Joyce ^..^ To email me, remove the XXX from my user name. |
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