On Cat Crapping

Fucking next door neighbour’s three-legged cat has just crapped on the grass.

Smug little bastard.

Wouldn’t mind so much if he were to give me the time of day and be friendly in a purry-scratch-me-love-me way, but no; the bugger just runs off, …..no,…. hobbles off… if I as much as put in an appearance outside.

Little shit was looking straight at me while he was doing it too. Well, it was less of a ‘look’ as more of an unfocused, slightly boss-eyed, thousand-yard, Fuck-Me-I’ll-Never-Get-This-One-Out stare as he heaved and squeezed.

He also had a silently panicked expression, like the countdown to launch had already started and missiles were heading his way any second. Y’know the expression….. The one with the whiskers well forward on Full Alert, fur slightly bristled and flanks heaving repeatedly from the effort.

We’ve all been there. For some reason or another, time is of the essence, you’ve got one stuck half-way, and It’s not budging any further without half your bleeding rectum coming out with it. To make matters worse, no matter how much welly you give the old sphincter you can’t cut the concrete-reinforced bugger in half and nor can you chicken out and back the bugger up again and save it for later.

Y’know…… shitting is a great leveller. Even levels out the lovely Nigella.; she who cooks like she’s working up for a shag. She sure works me up for one anyway. (Sigh)

No, …..on second thoughts…. surely not the lovely Nigella…… or the lovely Kylie. No, that wouldn’t be right, would it? But the rest of us….. shitting…. it levels us all out. I used to think of many of my bastard bosses sitting there with one stuck half-way…… or finding there’s no paper, and no bleddy grass handy either.

Try it…. the bastards don’t seem so bleddy powerful and smartassed then. Just don’t tell them, when they ask what you’re suddenly smiling at…..

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the cat crapping on my bleddy grass…….

I think he did just the one.

Seemed like a long one…..

Might have been split in two for ease of delivery. Y’know, so he could take another breath. I couldn’t tell from here.

All I know is he had to stumble forward to lay it out, on account of it was that long. Kinda awkward move to make with just the one front leg. He must be developing a new technique, because usually he rotates and gradually elevates his ass to spiral it…. It’s kinda mesmerising to watch in a way that takes some explaining. You gotta be there to see it really.

I ought to charge admission.

Put a placard up on the road.

Serve bleddy tea and soddin’ yeast buns……..

Anyway…. Finally, all finished and rising from The Assumed Position with a flank-quivering finale, as he clipped free the last squidgin that may have been dangling. Whiskers back into neutral position again and with eyes now fully functioning, he looked straight at me as if to say “Wot?”.

I’ll give you bleddy “Wot?”, you little sod. Just you stay there for a minute and let me find a bleddy rock.

After the awkward moment had passed between us, he hopped off with his hoppy gait, adding insult to injury by glancing down during the turn and giving his efforts a lingering backward look, as if hoping the points awarded were going to be worth the strain to his precious pencil sharpener.

I’ll give the little shit some points…..

Better go out and scrape it up before I forget it’s there and tread in it, …..like I usually do.

Have to do that walking-on-heels- thing then, or the sides-of -shoe thing…… or on tiptoes, all depending on the Area of Spread, to a suitable spot to be able to go to Boots-Off Mode. Then make with a twig to dig it out from the tread, (WHY can you never find a nice strong twig when you bleddy want one?), and finish off with the old water and scrubbing brush routine.

Cheers me up no end, it does. Oh joy, is me.

Still, I guess it could be worse.

Mustn’t grumble, eh? {:oI

N.B.
It could be a ‘she’ I guess, but I prefer to think of it as a ‘he’ since I’m pissed at it…… If it was all purry-scratch-me-love-me then it would be different.

In that case, it would be better then, if ‘he’ was a ‘she’…….I could call it ‘darlin’ and stuff.

Well, I would anyway, but, ….y’know,…. it gets kinda complicated….. affection between males and all that. It’s different for we Boys.

I just pretended with my buddy, Lomax, …..the little darlin’.

I still wonder where he got to, y’know….. {:oi
K. {:o)

Lomax is gone………….

I last saw him on Saturday 28th (Feb), at about 4.00pm, as Chris was leaving after calling in for a natter.

He’d been in and out for most of the day as usual, with me going out every now and then to check he hadn’t wandered off too far, calling him with the whistle if he didn’t come to his name. I looked, and whistled for him at about 5.30, but he wasn’t to be found. That would happen once in a while if he was having a really Great Adventure somewhere, but he always would come back within range, and answer the call, within another couple of hours.

It got dark, and still no sign of him. I kept calling him regularly until going to bed, worriedly cussing him for staying out so late, and keeping me up. I got up all through the night, and must’ve called him every one-and-a-half-hours at least. i didn’t get a lot of sleep, because it was real hard to sleep without him snuggled up on his fleece beside me, as he has for five months after his first, one and only, lonely night in the kitchen.

I wish now, that I’d got dressed and gone to look for him with the whistle, but I was so sure he’d be back by morning.

I knocked on the doors of all the houses either side of me, about twelve I guess, to get them to check their sheds and garages. No one had seen him the previous afternoon. I walked miles on Sunday morning calling and whistling for him. I walked right to the end of the green belt, at the back of me where everyone walks their dogs, and back again, up on the grassy playground, all around the school playing fields, and then down to the canal, checking the fields in between. I asked everyone I met if they’d seen Lomax, but no one had. I took the car out and checked along the roads in the area, including the housing estate, in case he’d been run over, but nothing.

Gone.

Just like that.

I guess I’ve been too cavalier in giving him pretty much all the freedom he wanted over the last month or so. I shouldn’t have let him out after dark……. browsing the ‘net reveals that’s when most cats get lost. Obvious really. Too young at only seven months? I guess so. He trusted me to keep him safe, and I’ve let him down.

Five months we’ve been together now, more or less, and I’ve watched him grow from a cute little mite into a real character; full of life, ‘talkative’, affectionate, and great company. I’ve pretty much been with him four days a week all winter, and he was like a little dog. Everywhere I went, he’d follow and settle with me nearby. If I left the room, he’d soon follow. He’d bring things to me to tirelessly play ‘fetch’; mostly balls of paper that were lying around for him to play with, or his big favourite, The Rat which Suzy had made for him at Christmas. He’d talk back to me quite often too, and was a real little buddy.

I often kept grappling with whether or not I should ever have had him, and in truth I didn’t really want the tie, but at the same time absolutely loved being with him. Now he’s gone, and it hurts more than it should.

I mean, he’s only a cat, right?

I guess the worst of it is my imagination haunts me with the thought of him dead, or dying slowly somewhere, maybe lying injured. Lost and lonely, and it’s started raining now……. cold and wet somewhere, and wondering where I am. I’ve just lit the fire, and he used to love sitting next to me as I laid the fire, and lit it. He loved this fire, and I feel real guilty sat here in front of it’s heat, when he’s prolly out there somewhere starving hungry, and cold. Maybe he’s not so far away, and I’ve passed within calling distance of him. Maybe he’s heard me and called out, but I’ve just walked right by calling his name as I went.

An imagination like mine is a bloody curse quite often.

I hope someone’s already taken him in, to keep him fed and warm, and that he’ll have had the good sense to pester someone, and look helpless enough to melt their hearts. It wouldn’t take much doing, as he’s a cracking looking cat, and has a remarkable nature. He hasn’t a bad bone in his body, or one nasty thought in his head. The only thing is, he’s a bit shy of strangers, and is likely to stay hidden until he’s in a desperate state.

He’s I.D.chipped, and maybe they’ll take the trouble to take him to a vet to see if he’s chipped, but I’m not so sure people are aware enough of the possibility.

The bottom line is, I want him to be ok, wherever he is. Even if he’s with someone else, as long as he’s ok, I can live with that.

Please God; don’t let him be hurt ……….or dead.

Of course, he could well be having a whale of a time, but I somehow doubt it. I’m trying to believe that he’ll be sat there, or come running out from the log-store, one of the times I open the door and call for him. The only good thing about it still winter, is that everyone will have their windows closed, at least at night, or I’d drive everyone nuts blowing this shrill whistle every hour or so!

I miss that little chap, and I just wish he’d walk in the door. He’d get the biggest hug.

Wherever you are, little man, I hope God is looking out for you, and has put you somewhere safe. K.:o(((((