Scratching my own funny bone for shits and giggles. Lampooning books, music and being a single woman over 40. Recording observations with an almost Seinfeldian obsession for the minutiae of life. Things can get sweary around here. You understand.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009


There’s this cat that comes to visit everyday. I don’t know which of the neighbours owns him but he spends an awful lot of time at my place. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if he was a stray but he’s a fat little fucker so I figure someone must be feeding him. I call him Clayton. The cat you have when you don’t have a cat. You see the thing is…Clayton would have to be, undoubtedly the dumbest fucking cat on earth. Honestly. I’ve tried all levels of reasonable torture on this beastly creature and still he keeps coming back. I thought my memory was bad. You see it all started about three years ago. We’d just moved into this house and I’d scored a new job at the MMMs. I was wearing my finest pair of black slacks when the little bugger snuck up behind me and smeared his vile, ungroomed coat all over my leg. The fluff brush was buried somewhere deep in a packing box of course, so I was forced to change outfits and ended up being late on the first day of the job. Then there was the time he snuck into the house and crash-tackled the cockatiel cage and let’s not forget the presents he leaves at the door for me…like the headless mice and lizards and vomit. Vile animal! So anyways, since then I usually start my day giving Clayton a swift kick in the cods. He’ll untangle himself and stroll back purring...looking for more leg to rub. And on it goes. Lately I’ve taken to hosing him with the jet setting on maximum. He’ll go hide in the bushes and wait until I turn off the tap. Soon he’s back for more lovin’ only this time he’s wet and smelly. Now I track him down in the bushes and saturate him until he decides he's had enough and does the bolt. An hour later he’s back like nothing’s happened. Cats are so not smart people. So don’t even go there.


Nautilus said...

That actually sounds like a fun way to start the day!!!

Clayton will come in handy next time you have a hankering for dim sims.

Moko said...

He's read something about Stockholm Syndrome, Nat. He's just working on ya.

I had a flat that came with a cat. The only reason being because he was the meanest fucking cat you've ever come across. I tried stuffing him in a cat cage once to send him off to the RSPCA. Didn't happen. Tore me to shit.

As far as I know he's still there. The next people 'adopted' him.

Bondiboy66 said...

When I was living out in the sticks (outside Tamworth NSW) the neighbour's dog used to come visit me regualrly. A very unkempt little silky terrier. I damn near adopted him myself.

As for cats and clothes, cats have a natural instinct for depositing vast amounts of hair on outfits that least need it. White cats with black clothes for instance (an old girlfriend's cat was from that breed - old Mischa died last year at the age of 22...I remember her as a kitten!) they are drawn like moths to a flame for that sort of thing. Like marking territory. Actually you are lucky this cat isn't like one family cat that marked territory in the traditional way...trees, windows, the TV, people. This cat pissed on ANYTHING.

Therbs said...

Nat, not being that enamoured of felines I suggest you give young Mr Havock a call. He is a problem solver who may be looking for something to do.

Anonymous said...

Nat a cat's attraction is based on an inverse law. The more you dislike a cat the closer they stay and longer too.
Maybe some catnip in the neighbour's garden. I wouldn't dare suggest aspirin.

Flinthart said...

1) Weather Balloon
2) Cylinder of helium
3) Piece of strong nylon twine
4) Hessian sack

I think that a creative and intelligent woman could almost certainly devise a method of losing a cat, if she had all four of those items of equipment at her disposal.

uamada said...

get pepper. sprinkle pepper on him. In his eyes and on his coat.

Anonymous said...

I had to explain the concept of "Clayton's" to two of my workmates the other day. Frak I felt old.

NowhereBob said...

Mr Flinthart.
I see your weather baloon, and raise you 1.6m 80mm PVC pipe, 1 80mm end cap(and a bit of bracing). Cotton rag for wadding. WD40 for propellant. Hay bale @ 70m as target.

I've never been a cat person. Unfortunately it came as part of the package. I exacted a promise "3 dead birds and it's me or the cat." After 2 dead birds I knew where I stood in the pecking order & never raised it again.

Anneal said...

Cats are like women (I won't get into My reasoning)
This one brings you looking for your's the highest form of a compliment. Must be a Tom

Good to see ya girl!

Steve said...

I've always been a cat person. When I was 5, I was attacked by a dog, and it took until my 20's before I could trust one again. The fact that cats did not need to be walked, and buried their own poop, and rarely needed a bath, made it easier to accept them. And when they did bring presents home, well, the rule was whoever found the headless mouse had to get rid of it. I always made sure I was not the first to find it. And if I was, I turned around and walked away, pretending I never saw it.

But when I did, we had a small 10 acre farm behind us, so the bodies were simply launched over the fence. When the farmer sold to a developer, I've often wondered if the current residents are haunted by small rodents. "They only moved the headstones, they didn't move the graves!!!"

Domestic Daze said...

Look on the bright side, you are truly loved!

That is about the best excuse for not killing the dum furball.


NAUT: I get this sick pleasure kicking his hairy butt. Someone call the RSPCA!

MOKO: Sounds like you needed some arm length rubber gloves and smelling salts!...BTW...I'd rather keep Bruce the Turkey captive than that little fucker!

BONDI: Agreed! Black velvet and white cats can't help themselves...and the only reason he's still alive is because he hasn't pissed on anything. Honestly. THAT WOULD BE THE LAST STRAW.

THERBS: I wouldn't be even writing this if I'd gotten Harry involved!

BANG: Had no idea about the inverse law thingy. A sound theory indeed!

FLINT: I'd wait for a good westerly and make sure the bastard ended up over Archerfield airport!

UAMADA: Don't wanna waste my pepper...but I've got this old packet of chilli powder...mmmmmmm

ABE: Oh man! I know I know! I put the link there for the sake of my American comrades as it was exclusive to Australia and New Zealand.

BOB: Like a modern day catapult...fuck. Love it.

ANNEAL: Me and cats have NOTHING in common! Wash your mouth out with soap!

STEVE: Unfortunately 'Clayton' and 'Low Maintenance' are mutually exclusive concepts!

DD: But's a sick and twisted love. I'm impressionable right now!!!


That cat seems to present the purfect argument for the reintroduction of fireworks.

Anonymous said...

Lerm fireworks are for yappy dogs

Dr Yobbo said...

My boss had a similar thing with a cat which came with the house he bought that he couldn't have dislodged with a stick of gelignite. Their cat wasn't as into being in an abusive relationship though.

Barnesm said...

" he spends an awful lot of time at my place....."

....why wouldn't he, you're fabulous.

I am sure the being treated badly and coming back is a metaphor for something. I am just not sure what.

Steve said...

Maybe his regular owner is one of your Afghani neighbors that is just fattening him up to eat him Eid Al-Adha (assuming cats meet Islamic dietary laws)?

And if so, maybe getting kicked in the nards by you is preferable to listening to the caterwauling of Afghani music (really, who wouldn't want to get kicked in the jimmy by you vs listening to such music?).

MickH said...

Well old Mr. Johnson
had troubles all his own
He had an old yellow cat
that wouldn't leave home
Tried everything he knew to do
to get the cat to stay away
Even took him up to Canada
and told him for to stay

But the cat came back, the very next day,
Thought he was a goner, but the cat came back
`Cause he wouldn't stay away

Well they give a boy a dollar
for to set the cat afloat
And he took him up the river
in a sack and a boat
Well the fishin' it was fine
till the news got around
That the boat was missing
and the boy was drowned...


Well the farmer on the corner
said he'd shoot him on sight
And he loaded up his gun
full of rocks and dynamite
The gun went off,
heard all over town
Little pieces of the man
was all that they found...


Well they finally found a way
this cat for to fix
They put him in an orange crate
on Route 66
Come a ten ton truck
with a twenty ton load
Scattered pieces of the orange crate
all down the road...


Now they gave him to a man
going up in the balloon
And they told him for to leave him
with the man in the moon
Well the balloon got busted,
back to earth it head,
And seven miles away
they picked the man up dead...


Well they took him to the shop
where the meat was ground
And they dropped him in the hopper
when the butcher wasn't 'round
Well the cat disappeared
with a blood-curdling shriek
And the town's meat
tasted furry for a week...


Well, they took him to Cape Canaveral
and they put him in a place
Shot him in a U.S. rocket
going way out in space
Well they finally thought the cat
was out a' human reach
Next day they got a call
from Miami Beach and...


MickH said...

Sorry to do this Nat but I just found the Rolf Harris version, which is the one I know and I think it's a little better. Here it is:

Old Uncle Judd had troubles of his own.
He had a scruffy yellow tom that wouldn't leave home.
He went to church one Sunday, one Sunday for advice.
The preacher said, "Leave him here, 't'would be so very nice."


But the cat came back, the cat came back.
Thought he was a goner, but the cat came back.
He just couldn't stay away.

He gave him to a man going up in a balloon'
And asked the chap to leave him with the Man in the Moon.

Well, the balloon it must have busted; well, that's what everybody said.

'Cause ten miles away they picked the man up dead.


Old Uncle Judd swore he'd kill the cat on sight.
He loaded up his blunderbuss with nails & dynamite.
He aimed it at the spot where the tomcat would appear.
All they ever found was Uncle Judd's left ear...

"Uh, where did they find it?"
"Well, it was just left 'ere."


He broke into the house, ate everything in sight;
While outside this Irish fella was looking for a fight.
The cat all smiles sat fat & fully fed.
The fella sang "Rule, Brittania" and the cat dropped dead.

CHORUS: [replace "the cat" with "his ghost"]

Bangar said...

Mick well done.

Anneal said...

MickH caught sesame street a few years back...or sesame S. caught him?

Lou said...

The young uns' here in NZ don't get the Claytons thing anymore either - it'll be a sad loss to Antipodean culture when it dies out with our generation.

No cat lover here tho' the balloon/helium/PVC pipe/pepper/WD40 (and aspirin?? I don't even get that one) all sound a wee bit extreme me thinks.


LOU: Extreme measures for extreme circumstances m'lady!

MICK: That's brilliant! I'm warming up my best baritone...RULE BRITTANIA!

ANNEAL: Wa? You is crazy.

BANG: He can pull 'em outta nowhere our Mick.

STEVE: They don't play that gear anymore...but their children have taken to loud backyard cricket matches...perhaps I can strike a deal with them.

BARNES: Fabulously single. Ahem ;-) Catlady methinks.

LERM: He'd still probably come back once his ass had healed.

DR YOBBO: Yes indeed. I'm just a regular Marquis de Sade.

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