Saturday, 21 April 2012

The joys of pawrenthood

At the risk of sounding like a crazy cat lady (that ship may have sailed with the title…) I love my furry children, and sometimes I like other people’s furry children more than their human children. I know - *gasp*.
Me and my 'sister'.
See I grew up in a house where the dog was my ‘sister’ and the cat was my ‘brother’ and as siblings go they were top-notch. Better, in many ways, than my human siblings. The furry brethren, for instance, did not lock me in dark rooms and shout ‘rraaaaarrrrrrrr’ outside the door, they did not mock me endlessly for pronouncing pseudonym ‘pee-se-doe-nee-um’ (I was 9!) and they did not tell me I came from the knackers because I was the only ginger in the family. Ah yes – all good ‘character building’ stuff… apparently.
I do remember a bit of aiding and abetting when my (human) brother used to hold me down for my (canine) sister to give my face a liberal licking, but she thought it was the ultimate expression of love. I’m not adverse to a little doggy slurp on the hand of course, in fact one of the best things that happened to me this week was being licked by a puppy in the street (my life is so very full!) but I’ve seen a bit too much of what dogs eat to relish a tongue facial.
Like mother, like son...
     Cat drool and sand-paper ‘kisses’ are no better, given the dead things that their mouths get wrapped around and the flies they like to snack on (bleurgh!) But their purrs can cure all ills. I had a rather stressed friend round recently, who felt infinitely better after a liberal application of red wine and G-cat purrs.
In terms of a morning arousal (no – not that kind of… get your minds out of the gutter!) I find the purry alarm clock to be far superior to a grating ‘bleep-bleep-bleep’, a dose of smashy-and-nicey style radio DJ or a screaming baby. And if it’s stupid o’clock, at least you can shut furry children in the other room by way of a snooze button – I think social services frown on that type of thing with human children.
Butter wouldn't melt...
Now they are far from perfect. At times they are nothing but trouble in a hairy package. Just a couple of their finest moments include bringing a live pigeon into the living room (I’ll never know how she got it through the cat-flap) and peeing on our neighbour’s pillow (the shame!)
They’ve had me in tears, forcing me to euthanise the mice that were beyond saving, and I’ve had occasion to call the police because of them (not as crazy cat lady as it sounds, honest, G-cat got himself locked in an empty flat, so I had to track down the key-holder).
But then they turn on the fuzzy charm, look at you with big innocent eyes, and it’s all forgotten – till next time…

Some of my nieces, nephews and favourite hairy friends...

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