Prime tucker is better
[cats on the roof, cats on the tiles, cats with the pox and cats with the piles,cats with their arseholes wreathed in smiles but one won't be there in the morning - from WOES (wise old erskineville sayings) to the tune of an ancient Egyptian folk song.]
It started with a hand printed note under the door.
'Dear Neighbour,
'Just a wee note to inform you that the Cat Protection Society will be setting traps in our backyard in the next 2 weeks. We've been having trouble with a Tom Cat(s) spraying inside & outside our house. He has sprayed in the kitchen and laundry! We presume he is a stray as no responsible cat owner would have an unnutered male cat, specially in the city!
'So please keep your cats inside for the next few weeks if you can. Of course any cats with collars etc will not be sent away! Heaven Forbid!!
'Any queries please don't hesitate to ask Sue or Rodney 154 George St.'
It just happened that I had been pondering on the same problem. Added to the Sue and Rodney (whoever they may be) whinges the bastards shit in my garden and my birds, who bring me secret business, have all but disappeared.
CAT SHIT
Cat shit on the tracks, Are you the wharbler's lilt,
Cat shit on the trail, Are you the whistler's call,
Are you the Robin's song, Are you the native thrush
Are you the parrot's tail. Spreading joy to all?
Cat shit in the parks,
Cat shit by the river,
Do we prefer this cat shit
To species gone forever?
I receive this article 'CHIP YOUR CAT - OR ELSE!' from the Poet Lorikeet printed in 'The Stirrer.' It ends with the above 'Cat Shit'. A copy of the full tirade he wrote is placed under the door of 154. Local gossip reveals that nothing was happening. The enemy still left his visiting cards.
So I sought the help of the Feral United Cat Killers Enterprises Registered Sydney.
Practice beats theory anytime if it comes to a one out. I was provided with a superstrong trap for furry and other animals.
Over the next two weeks desultory attempts failed to bring the bacon home, as it were, seeing as the cage would hold a small porker. Tripped several times. I won't bore you with how sheer animal cunning solved this problem.
The exercise was also interrupted by the descent into the house of a mob of drunken visitors in town for a few days on a noble purpose. To bury one of our dead. Those from the labouring class, you know what I mean.
Things settle down and Bingo! It took a piece of rare rump (from Tony's in Redfern) and a two night stand but there he was. Thirty pounder, plump, tawny dark and savage as all hell. He launched at the door of his cell and bent the wires in several places. Wow! As I bent to pick up the trap he spat, clawed and generally showed very improper manners. After rump steak and all too.
Me Mum always said that there are better ways of killing a cat than choking it to death with butter. Quite right. I opt for the time honored water treatment.
A bath full of pussy's anathema and a still spewing rager is given the drop.
Amazing! Talk about Susie Maroney with balls! He hit the bottom at one end, did a complete lap, turned and did a second, turned again, all the time towing his handicap. Grinning. Underwater. Two laps in ten seconds flat. GOLD! GOLD! GOLD! And a WORLD RECORD to boot.
I thought of opening the trapdoor and requesting a double somersault and twist with pike as encore but the Champ had expired. Pretty tired I guess.
The rest is a bit anticlimax, really. Two nights later a lighter coloured duplicate fell for the old dead fish head trick (of a Snowy Mountains rainbow trout from the Faris Fish Markets). Another mean customer. He tried to circle the pool. Must have been training for the track 10,000K by mistake.
Next night (on chicken leg from Chicken George at Marrickville Metro) a big rangy female who went almost quietly. All is now quiet. Except last night I saw a cute little tabby - flea collar, tiny bell, rego tag, the lot, - stalking a two tone, olive coloured, honey eater attracted by my mellaleucas coming into bloom.
Lots of new yuppies, dinkys and other riff raff have moved into the new town houses in the village. One of the FUCKERS suggests skinning the mongrel and nailing it the owner's door. I thought of shaking the living shit out of it, maybe a couple of light dunks, to teach it a lesson and letting it go. But I am assured by one who has made a deep study of the brains of many kinds of furry beasts that I'd be wasting my time. Cats are dumb.
So we face yet another crisis of conscience.
What would you do?
I'll keep you posted.
[cats on the roof, cats on the tiles, cats with the pox and cats with the piles,cats with their arseholes wreathed in smiles but one won't be there in the morning - from WOES (wise old erskineville sayings) to the tune of an ancient Egyptian folk song.]
It started with a hand printed note under the door.
'Dear Neighbour,
'Just a wee note to inform you that the Cat Protection Society will be setting traps in our backyard in the next 2 weeks. We've been having trouble with a Tom Cat(s) spraying inside & outside our house. He has sprayed in the kitchen and laundry! We presume he is a stray as no responsible cat owner would have an unnutered male cat, specially in the city!
'So please keep your cats inside for the next few weeks if you can. Of course any cats with collars etc will not be sent away! Heaven Forbid!!
'Any queries please don't hesitate to ask Sue or Rodney 154 George St.'
It just happened that I had been pondering on the same problem. Added to the Sue and Rodney (whoever they may be) whinges the bastards shit in my garden and my birds, who bring me secret business, have all but disappeared.
CAT SHIT
Cat shit on the tracks, Are you the wharbler's lilt,
Cat shit on the trail, Are you the whistler's call,
Are you the Robin's song, Are you the native thrush
Are you the parrot's tail. Spreading joy to all?
Cat shit in the parks,
Cat shit by the river,
Do we prefer this cat shit
To species gone forever?
I receive this article 'CHIP YOUR CAT - OR ELSE!' from the Poet Lorikeet printed in 'The Stirrer.' It ends with the above 'Cat Shit'. A copy of the full tirade he wrote is placed under the door of 154. Local gossip reveals that nothing was happening. The enemy still left his visiting cards.
So I sought the help of the Feral United Cat Killers Enterprises Registered Sydney.
Practice beats theory anytime if it comes to a one out. I was provided with a superstrong trap for furry and other animals.
Over the next two weeks desultory attempts failed to bring the bacon home, as it were, seeing as the cage would hold a small porker. Tripped several times. I won't bore you with how sheer animal cunning solved this problem.
The exercise was also interrupted by the descent into the house of a mob of drunken visitors in town for a few days on a noble purpose. To bury one of our dead. Those from the labouring class, you know what I mean.
Things settle down and Bingo! It took a piece of rare rump (from Tony's in Redfern) and a two night stand but there he was. Thirty pounder, plump, tawny dark and savage as all hell. He launched at the door of his cell and bent the wires in several places. Wow! As I bent to pick up the trap he spat, clawed and generally showed very improper manners. After rump steak and all too.
Me Mum always said that there are better ways of killing a cat than choking it to death with butter. Quite right. I opt for the time honored water treatment.
A bath full of pussy's anathema and a still spewing rager is given the drop.
Amazing! Talk about Susie Maroney with balls! He hit the bottom at one end, did a complete lap, turned and did a second, turned again, all the time towing his handicap. Grinning. Underwater. Two laps in ten seconds flat. GOLD! GOLD! GOLD! And a WORLD RECORD to boot.
I thought of opening the trapdoor and requesting a double somersault and twist with pike as encore but the Champ had expired. Pretty tired I guess.
The rest is a bit anticlimax, really. Two nights later a lighter coloured duplicate fell for the old dead fish head trick (of a Snowy Mountains rainbow trout from the Faris Fish Markets). Another mean customer. He tried to circle the pool. Must have been training for the track 10,000K by mistake.
Next night (on chicken leg from Chicken George at Marrickville Metro) a big rangy female who went almost quietly. All is now quiet. Except last night I saw a cute little tabby - flea collar, tiny bell, rego tag, the lot, - stalking a two tone, olive coloured, honey eater attracted by my mellaleucas coming into bloom.
Lots of new yuppies, dinkys and other riff raff have moved into the new town houses in the village. One of the FUCKERS suggests skinning the mongrel and nailing it the owner's door. I thought of shaking the living shit out of it, maybe a couple of light dunks, to teach it a lesson and letting it go. But I am assured by one who has made a deep study of the brains of many kinds of furry beasts that I'd be wasting my time. Cats are dumb.
So we face yet another crisis of conscience.
What would you do?
I'll keep you posted.
