And The Cat Came Back …
24 May, 2015

I can’t believe he’s done this to me again!

Friends came around for lunch etc. yesterday and while I was out in the back yard at the compost bin, my friend called out from the front yard, “I think Flot’s here!”

I raced through the house and there he was – just like last time, in the fenced off dinosaur garden, mrrrrowing like he was in distress.  He wouldn’t go near my friend, but when I came over he ran up chirping and started nuzzling me through the fence.  After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing he accepted a salmon sachet and allowed himself to be picked up and brought into TGP’s room.

He was big and fat, a tiny scratch on his nose but paws and claws in good shape.  Still wearing his harness but missing the new tags with my mobile number and his ninja bell.  He was a bit brubby, and obviously overjoyed to be home.  He’s been burying his head in my armpit like a kitten, drooling and purring his head off and very snuggly.

Jet’s been ambivalent.  Like me, I think he’d only just got over the heart-break of last time.

Welcome to the world, baby girl
14 November, 2013

AKA Mojo AKA Puppy-puppy Moi-Moi

AKA Mojo AKA Puppy-puppy Moi-Moi

Dah dah!

Sorry it’s taken so long, but here she is.  Our brand-new, eight-week old Bandog pup.  Called, depending on who you ask, Sari, Mojo or Puppy-puppy Moi-moi.

The cats despise her, but do sneak up to me for cuddles when she’s not around, so they don’t seem to be holding a grudge.  Unless they also do the revenge-served-cold thing in feline society, I suppose.

Strange Days
29 September, 2012

Strange day yesterday, ladies and lurkers. I had a lovely day’s Brisvegas Holiday Excursion planned with MM, EB, a BFF and her two kids. Started off instead by having to: grief counsel my father through his dog’s terminal illness (progressive spinal cord stenosis) as I ate my egg on Vegemite toast; guide him through the decision-making process, i.e. that he needed to man up and have the dog put down because it had reached the suffering stage and had no prospect of remission, let alone improvement; and then drive them both to the vet when I was so successful he decided to do it. Right then and there.

EB is a big animal lover and also his Grandpa’s favourite, so when he said he wanted to come too I thought it would be doubly good: for EB to have up-close experience of death before it was a much-loved person involved, and so that he could console his Grandpa.

As you will have guessed, I was wrong. We ended up that Grandpa did the male-of-his-generation thing and pulled a strong, silent act, while EB spent the next hour or more sobbing uncontrollably.

I was correct about one thing – it was best I was there to drive them both home.

So I returned to my parents’ house to race through the preparations for our day out.  All the while EB was insisting that he needed to do a Great Garbo (I vant to be alone), with me trying to nurture him while he grieved, but equally adamant  that we had to proceed with the outing and he had to come with us.  We had gorgeous clear, sunny but not too hot weather and the excursion went fabulously well for 6 hours – fun ride in on the ferry, lots of fun in various South Bank water features, great company, awesome Lego robots, kids even behaving beautifully.

And then, just as we were about to pack up the remains of afternoon tea and make our tired but happy way home, MM’s BF-in-the-world slammed his head into a post while running in the playground.  Straight away, a lump the size of a small avocado and the colour of hailclouds swelled on his forehead. Naturally enough, his Mum panicked.  The helpful staff at the cafe next to the playground gave me a cup of ice without hesitation – thanks Steam Cafe- and then the South Bank lifesavers gave us a plastic bag full of ice.  By the time we were on the ferry home, the lump was down to a third of original size and Mum had stopped hyperventilating.  Mostly.

The evening turned out well, with a lovely BBQ with my cousin and his husband.  If anyone wants a recipe for marshmallow and sour-cream salad . . . much nommier than it sounds. . . I now have one.

And an odd footnote:  my horoscope advised that my day would start well, but unavoidable complications and difficulties would ensue.

Croc Up
9 May, 2011

Woo-wow: chomps hell out of the traditional flowers and champagne if you want to score with women

It has come to my attention that certain, other than lady-like, members of The Lounge feel not only marginalised but also terrified by our free and frank discussions. Shame. Here’s one for the boys, then; or, as I call them, in a spirit of equality and compassion, the chromosomally-challenged:

A would-be Don Juan in Chicago, Illinois… birthplace of the Blues Brothers and death-bed of the American car industry… has been charged with possession of a dangerous animal by unfeeling Cook County sheriff’s investigators who seized his four-foot alligator.

Poor 43-year-old Dewayne Yarbrough kept his pet… name unknown, let’s call him Snappy… in a small tank in his kitchen, feeding it only 10 live mice a month in an effort to restrict its size. I hate to keep calling Snappy “it”, but my extensive research has failed to reveal its gender. I like to think he is a male gator, although the phrase “hung like a gator” has not entered the common idiom for good reason, I fear.

So, the score is Cupid love, rock-hearted Animal Control Officers fifteen and the Animal Welfare League plans to pass Snappy to the Chicago Herpetological Society.

What I’d really love to know is – who dogged (should that be crocked?) Dewayne to the cops: an underwhelmed young miss who freaked out at a failed reptilian seduction… or a jealous love rival, perhaps endowed only with a Children’s Python with which to woo the laideez?