Catfish

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“Wat r u wearing?” He typed as he sat.
“Not much,” she replied in the MSN chat.
But the problem with dating
an internet acquaintance
is they really don’t know you’re a cat.

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In Memoriam: My Slush

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Yesterday evening I received a phone call I’ve always dreaded. My mum rang to tell me Slush had been run over. That he was no longer with us.

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I’ve not heard my dad choked up since my granddad died when I was young. But last night we were both on opposite ends of the phone, and neither of us were able to speak. Eventually he managed to say, “I brought him home. I’m going to bury him in the garden.”

This is the man who was forever complaining about being woken up by Slush at 4am every morning, with a slap of the paw to his nose like, “wake the hell up, man! I need my chicken.” But dad loved him. We all did.

It seems daft writing this. Cats die every day, don’t they? But writing is my release, and I’m hoping that in preserving my memories of him, I can help myself heal. Everyone thinks their cat is special. Myself included. To keep him to myself is selfish, so I’m going to share him with you.

Slush was one of the most beautiful, funny, intelligent cats I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. He was loved by so many people, and I’m glad many of my friends had the chance to meet him, and devastated the others did not.

He became our cat not long after I began High School. He was gorgeous as a kitten in the palm of our neighbour’s hand, and he was even more so as an adult. I fell in love with him. Our other cat Holly didn’t. But she always tolerated him.

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When we got him, he hadn’t been mircochipped, wormed, neutered or looked after well at all. We had him treated for all of the above, but then the vet told us his teeth were all rotten. That he was in pain every time he ate. So he had them all removed.

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At first I felt terrible for him. But as time went on, he got used to eating without teeth, and it became hilarious to see him dribbling all over the place and his tongue casually hanging out. I had my very own Toothless.

He used to sit on top of the shed, overlooking the dogs next door, knowing he was just out of reach of them. They’d go crazy, jumping up to try and reach him, and he’d just sit there, not even flinching.

Slush’s favourite thing in the world to do, like most cats, was sleep. You could guarantee that any form of cushion or quilted soft thing had Slush on it.

I think his second favourite thing was being brushed. I used to sit there for ages holding the brush in my hand, with him rubbing his face against it. He would purr and dribble and I’d end up with grey fur everywhere.

His third favourite thing was probably sitting on the front wall looking all pretty, waiting for people to walk past and give him attention. And boy did he get attention. Yeah, he knew he was gorgeous. Each time we’d look out the window cautiously in case the passers-by stuffed him in their prams and ran off.

Slush was mischievous. He was the stereotypical walk-across-all-the-surfaces-knocking-things-off-until-they-wake-up kind of cat. At 2am he’d jump onto my chest of drawers, climb on top of the fish tank and nearly make the lid cave in, before walking across my keyboard, “clunk clunk clunk”-ing on all the keys.

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During my phase of disliking spaghetti bolognese Slush decided to stick his head in it. He ate the minced meat fine, but when it came to the spaghetti he had to keep flinging his head back to try and swallow it. It was beautiful watching a cat headbanging with spaghetti hanging out of his mouth.

We could never do family activities at home without him wanting to be a part of it. And rightly so. Whenever mum was doing a jigsaw he’d lie in the centre of it and pick the pieces up with his paw, or jump up on the table and slide across by accident, taking the entire thing with him. We couldn’t play Scrabble either.

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At Christmas he’d sit under the tree, knocking off any baubles he could reach. Once we made the mistake of wrapping up a cat treat Christmas stocking, and came downstairs to find the catnip had driven him wild and he’d clawed through it. The decorative beads became his favourite toy throughout the years.

In the Summer he’d sit under the rhubarb leaves like a mini parasol. He’d sit on the swing seat and happily sleep while you rocked it. He’d sit on the table and watch us eat, constantly sneaking closer to the food. I’d sneak him a bit of chicken.

Slush was always alpha cat. He started telling Holly off whenever he found one of her dumps after she unhousetrained herself. And when two strays decided to make a home out of our greenhouse, he put them in their place. He’d sit on the bench, just watching them, or grabbing the other’s tail between the slats when they got too close. This was his garden.

Slush wasn’t a lap cat, but he always gave the best cuddles. Usually these were in the early hours of the morning, but they were worth it to hear him purr. He loved being stroked under his chin. You could lie there with him on your chest for almost half an hour. Then he’d shake his head and give you a face full of dribble before getting off and sleeping.

He loved to sit in small boxes, no matter how uncomfortable he looked. On his mad half hours he’d do several laps of the house and attack anything and everything in his path. But he never hurt us. Either way, he never failed to make me laugh.

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He was a blue-eyed, fur-covered piece of perfection and happiness in my life. I was always happy around him, but that’s gone forever now and I have to come to terms with that somehow. I hope one day the tears will stop and the ache will lessen, but for now the pain of never seeing him again is unbearable. I wish I’d gone to see him just one last time.

At risk of sounding clichéd and soppy, it’s made it very real to me that bad things can happen to anyone at any time. That we need to make the most of spending time with the people and creatures we love. Because you never know when that phone will ring.

Goodbye, Slush. It was an honour to be your human.

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The Voldemort Dream

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This dream came in two parts; the weird part, and the action. Of course some of you will prefer to go straight into the action, so by all means, skip to “but anyways” 🙂

I’d finally moved back to Uni! But this time our halls of residence flat was more than weird. One of my flatmates (for the purposes of this dream shall be called Sarah) had already moved in, and decided to give me the grand tour.
I was supposed to be in room 1, so I went to the first door I came across. But it was room 14. Well that was odd. There was only supposed to be five rooms.
The next door wouldn’t open, and wasn’t labelled. The next was my door. But each of the doors I could see down this corridor were distinctly different. 14 had been brown and shiny. Mine was like the usual halls of residence doors. Number 2 next to mine was wooden, and number 3 had a white door that blended in with the wall. 3 was Sarah’s room, and it looked like nothing more than an airing closet. I couldn’t imagine it being a big room.
Next door to her was the bathroom. Well, I say bathroom… it was cramped, dark and disgusting. It was so cramped in fact, that the bath had to be raised high, like a bunk bed, only with no ladder. How the hell did they expect us to get up there?!
I wasn’t looking forward to living there after seeing that. But then right next door was a modern refurbished bathroom, all white and pristine and spacious. The bath may have been better looking in this one, but it was still a bloody bunk bath.
Then we went past numerous rooms and headed for the kitchen. I had been warned beforehand that our new kitchen was long but not wide. I underestimated just how wide. This was a state of the art open plan kitchen, and it was huge! Two boys were already in it, and I recognised them from High School. Oh well, that meant I only had ten more flatmates to meet…
Soon enough, the entire kitchen was full of people, and I understood the necessity of having such a large kitchen.

But anyways,
Once we’d all settled in, I knew he’d find me. He always did. I was the one person in the world he wanted to kill more than anything, and he was determined to do it. Sure enough, when I looked out my bedroom window, he was there.
Voldemort.
And it was at that particular moment that he looked up at my window, and leered. “I know you’re in there!” He boomed. Yet for some reason, he wouldn’t enter the flat himself. Like he couldn’t come in without an invite or something. Vampire Voldemort.
I ran to get Sarah, and we broke into the next door flat with a few of our flatmates. There was an explosion, and we saw chunks of the wall outside blown apart. Oh God. I was putting these people’s lives at risk. Each explosion sounded like the whip of a wand. But these weren’t intended to hurt anyone. These were just the warning signals, telling me to give myself up. The real pain would begin soon.
I ran back to my flat and began gathering bits and pieces I’d need with me. But then Sarah called my name and said it was too dangerous to be in there. I sighed. Of course she was write. I took back with me whatever was already in my arms.
Not a minute later, we watched as a huge fireball hiss through the air and plummet into the flat. The entire building went up in flames instantly and collapsed to the ground. Bits of the fire clung to the floorboard of the building we were in, and one of our cleverer flatmates quelled them.
Only now there was a big problem. This flat now only had three walls.
I looked at Sarah. She was here to protect me, at all costs. She nodded, and we all evacuated into the darkness. I pulled my hood up, and slunk into the trees with everyone else. We reached a deserted street, and hid in a derelict building. From a secret entrance, survivors joined us, and I was glad to see so many of them. Others had not been so fortunate. I tried not to think about them.
A big, Heimdall-like guy stood watch over us. He looked at me with concern. I started babbling at him, saying, “I lost all my stuff… All my possessions, just… gone.”
“Didn’t you have cats?” He asked.
My stomach dropped. How had I forgotten them?! I should have looked for them around the flat, should have attempted to rescue them before…
I didn’t want to think about it. I went into the main room where everyone was sat. I was trying desperately hard not to cry.
There was a soft meowing from behind me. But I was sat against a wall. I pushed at it, and a section swung back to reveal a small, hidden passageway. To my amazement, dozens of cats began milling out of the wall, meowing as they tried to find their owners.
I saw several cats that looked like one of mine, but none that looked like the other. When the last of the cats came through, I gave up hope.
I may have gotten away with my life, but Voldemort had killed my cats.
This time, it was war.

The Deal Or No Deal Dream

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So today’s dream saw me in a game of Deal or no Deal. Only instead of opening the boxes to find signs with random figures on… there were cats and dogs inside. Live, real life adorable cats and dogs. Whichever box I decided to go with would be my pet.
Man I lost a lot of cute kittens that day. It was so depressing seeing all these animals that could have been mine. I was tempted to run around, grab all the boxes, leg it out of the studio and set up my own boarding house for pets.

…Anyway, that’s all I can remember. Make of it what you will! Either way I think it’d make for a good TV show. It’d at least get some of those poor animals out of shelters and into good homes!
Commission this stuff already!