MORLEY + ANIMALS = DISASTER

HERE PUSS, PUSS PUSS

It’s official. We suck at owning animals. Full Stop. I give up and will never harass my all knowing, all seeing husband again.

See it’ me who endlessly bangs on about the kids “needing” to grow up with a pet and how this animal will complete our large family that is already packed into a house the size of an eggshell.

So when Puss, our 8 year old well, puss we adopted from the animal welfare league in June, went missing last week, I officially resigned as chief pet campaigner.

Poor Puss. Lovely kitty cat. She dribbled a lot and was shit scared of the 2 year old when he had his Power Ranger kit on but all in all she loved hanging out on our bed, sleeping, fouling up the kitty litter tray and eating. And it truly surprises me that she’s nicked off. I mean where’s she going to get a better gig? It’s warm, food on tap and has endless scratches under the chin.

9yo daughter is truly devastated and made up very savvy Missing posters and taped them on the lamp posts. This led to one phone call where the neighbour tried to catch another neighbour’s cat and got the shit scratched out of her for her troubles. To her credit, the tabby cats do look v. Much the same.

As a kid, I grew up with a ginger cat named Timmy. We got him as a kitten when I was in grade 1. In proportion to the amount I loved Timmy, he inexplicably hated me. I mean seriously wanted to maim me.

He would lie in the bushes in wait for me and me only. I would run gaily down the back yard talking to my imaginary friends, rullie and chullie (whole other story) and Timmy would pounce and bring me down with a cat styled ankle tap. Didn’t matter that he scratched my forearms to tiny shreds when I tried to force him to sleep in my bed each night, I loved him. And we had him til he died of old age.

We also had Ralph, the long range pisser bitsa dog. Where ever you were standing, Ralph had the amazing ability to pee and hit you with amazing bullseye abilities. He too lived to the ripe old age of 13.

Puss was not our first addition.

First came whiskers. A very cute ginger fluffy kitten we adopted from the Merrimac RSPCA. Whiskers was great. Until the ringworm. The ringworm that passed on to our extended family and friends. They were ever so grateful. We tried to get her treated, however it got to the point where I was steam cleaning the walls, canestining the wash and it was STILL not going away. Husband took whiskers back to the RSPCA. I know this sounds lame and the easy way out, but after having 3 weeks off work home with quarantined children, we knew what we had to do.

It took a full year to convince my husband we could handle another animal. We went back to the pound and picked out another, 1 year old ginger cat. Imaginatively named, Whiskers 2. Whiskers the 2nd did alright. Sure he tried to suck the life out of you when you slept and often brought in snakes as special presents but he sort of just lived his life. He wasn’t a particularly loving cat and the kids got over being mauled by him quite quickly.

When we were between house settlements and had nowhere to take him, we asked my Mum if she would take her for 6 weeks. She happily agreed and so began the end for Whiskers 2.

Within a week, mum requested we take her far far away. I think it may have been the massive catshit that was expertly delivered Mr Whippy style in the centre of her bed that was the final straw. So Whiskers 2 went back to the pound. It’s official – we suck.

Thirdly I worked on my husband to make him believe what we truly needed was a dog. I wanted a Jack Russell; he wanted a manly dog, a big dog, A Golden Retriever. So Max the puppy Golden Retriever arrived. He was in a word – beautiful.

I knew he was going to get big. I knew he would need training. I knew they were notoriously a bit lame brained. We hit the trifecta with Max. The day he knocked our 2 year old on his butt and onto the concrete after numerous attempts at training, the decision to keep Max was taken from hands and we found Max a farm and another dog to go live with. I’m not talking the metaphorical farm; I mean the true acreage with lots to do and limitless running. That was heartbreaking and although I spent more time with Max than the kids did, they took it very hard. We that day, became the WORST parents on earth.

As I write this, I am beginning to see my husband’s reluctance. I must have had a selective memory when it comes to all things animal related and now ban myself officially from attaining another animal. Cuff me now officer.