This morning the ambassador handed Rudi a final note stating that unless we heard from him by eleven a.m. that he was prepared at once to stop his micturations and defecations a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently we are at war with Rudi.
 
Our cat, Rudi, has been a bit grumpy and out of sorts recently. A heart-stoppingly expensive trip to the vet’s has revealed the cause to be a rectal abcess (sorry if I have just ruined your meal). We asked the vet please to cure him. The vet indicated that it would be much more fun for all concerned (i.e. for him) if we were to try our hands at animal doctoring instead. So, he clipped a magnificent plastic collar round Rudi’s neck and gave us instructions to hold the cat down twice a day and flush disinfectant through the abcess with a syringe.
Rudi, the ungrateful little bastard, saw only pain and indignity in all this. He failed to acknowledge the bank haemorraghe that his treatment had caused and the good intentions which motivated our twice daily wrestling sessions. He took careful note that when he got his new plastic ruff stuck in the catflap or in the door to his litter box we laughed at him insensitively. He sat glaring at us and plotting his revenge. Each session with the syringe stiffened his feline resolve.
He waited until we had made up the guest bedroom for the visit of my brother-in-law and nephew. Once the freshly aired duvet and clean sheets were on the bed he trotted purposively into the room, jumped onto the bed and urinated copiously. We were alerted by his little catty snicker and the sound of our guests’ despair. It took a while to put things right and, in the end, we had to tie the door shut to prevent a repeat performance.
Surely, Rudi apparently thought, we had learned our lesson. Yet, at 6 pm, there he was being pinned to the floor by the fat one with the loud voice whilst the small one who serves him food was spraying water up his rear. As soon as we had finished, he bolted up to our room and showered our marriage bed with ammonia.
This was war. We raged and howled and boots were swung close to his pustular rear. He realised that he could not win a symmetrical conflict and his best bet lay in insurgency. He retreated into the shadows and developed a strategy. As we retired to bed and our said our goodnights, I heard the sound of my beloved sniffing the air.
P: “Can you smell cat shit?”
M: “Er … yes”
P: “Oh God … where is it?”
I turned on the light expecting to find a horse’s head of cat dung beneath the duvet. But I could find nothing. It appeared to be coming from the cupboard but we emptied it and found nothing. Rudi has stumped us. He has filled our room with a persistent odour of shit but we cannot find any. Has he sown it into the curtain lining? Has he shoved it into the mattress? Has he filled a shoe? He is saying nothing but he is abundantly smug.
He has won this round and the world shall hear from him again.
Ahhh Moobs, you sum up the love of the cat superbly. My love was Henry… and the dear 22 pound sir just departed us after 16 longsuffering but lovely but harrowing years.
‘sigh.
I hate Rudi. I love Rudi.
Such is the life of cat lovers.
Little shitter.
EEEEEEEEH my sphincter bits all clenched up.
We spent stupid amounts recently on our CONSTIPATED cat. Yep.
Our just barf on everything…and in dark corners that takes you years (for my level of cleaning) to find.
I never really liked cats before I read this and now I’m fairly convinced that I was right not to.
There is a permanent stain on the carpet, straight ahead of you as you walk in through my front door – welcome, Guests! – caused by my girl cat peeing there consistently for a week. It did eventually transpire that she had a bladder infection, but still…
There is also a phallic-shaped mark on the dining table caused by her throwing up on it, but one of those sneaky invisible throw-ups in the middle of the night that is just pure stomach acid. It therefore had a good chance to eat through the many layers of polish on the table and despite my best efforts to repair it it’s still quite patently there.
Gah.
Brilliant. This is why I love cats. I hate those collars though. My old cat had one once and I felt so sad when he kept bumping into things that I took it off. But then, in those days, I didn’t pay the vet bill.
Hey, you can’t blame poor Rudi – how would you feel if someone who didn’t speak your language held you down every day and squirted stingy stuff up your bottom?
What?
Really?
Oh ….
Lol – ahh moobsy ur so funny.
I’ve always been a cat person but they can’t half piss u off when they’re determined to.
A good quotes – cant remember who by – its on my site somewhere
‘if cats could talk, they wouldnt’
Along the same lines as “Never fight a land war in Asia,” I would wager that the cat always wins. Always.
Oh poor Moobs! Once again your love gets misunderstood. It’s so hard to see something you love in pain – and doubly hard when they can’t appreciate your ministerings.
This is what I’ve learned as OGC, and having spoken to no less than 8 pet psychics over the years. Here’s what they would suggest: First be in a calm assertive place when you approach your treatments. Second, clearly picture in your mind what you are planning on doing. Third, be very clear that this is designed to ease his suffering. (And this is the hard part because you both have to really believe it for Rudi to believe it.) Then approach the treatments. It sounds like Rudi has no idea why you are doing these treatments – which means that you are not clear as well.
It’s worth a try….
Ah yes, they are vendictive little fuckers aren’t they?
How long do you have to do this to the poor thing?
Rudi is a one-cat comedy show. (Is it okay that I laughed hysterically at your misfortune? I’m feeling a little guilty about that.)
If it makes you feel any better, we have a dog that enjoys taking furtive shits in secret places, non-stop barking, and burying her food in the couch.
oh rudi!
on the day after thanksgiving I went towards the kitchen, found the trash bin on it’s side and garbage spilled every which way. that wasn’t the worst of it (I could have sworn I’d taken all the turkey garbage out the night before)…after cleaning the garbage up I walked into the living room to find a pile of turkey bits somebody wasn’t able to digest that came back up.
why do we love these little creatures so much?
hope you find your little surprise before it gets tracked anywhere.
I just threw up in my mouth
heh heh. I knew I’d outstayed my welcome at my sister’s when they secretly got their cat to poo in my suitcase. The fact that she was on diet cat food (that’s the cat, not the sister) and her poo came out looking roughly the way it did on the way in, was no consolation.
my moneys on the cat 🙂
you may be awfully clever – but rudi will always outwit you
He reminds me of my former dog.
He was so angered by our acquisition of a family cat that he decided to spew the cat litter across the laundry room whenever we left him alone. That is what we thought was happening, until we set up a camera and found that he was not haphazardly tossing kitty litter around in order to get the cat in trouble. Nope. He was sifting rather carefully, for a 80 pound dog.THROUGH the litter to get a mid-day snack.
Maybe they are related.
ah yes – well now, i was thinking of tagging you but a) i couldn’t believe that a man of your calibre hadn’t been tagged a hundred times before (ok, so i was off by about 10,000 per cent – rather like noddy and his lavish spending on supernannies instead of tackling the real issue of poverty – oh dear noddy! icing and no cake?) and b) unjustly, i now find, i wasn’t sure you’d play. anyway – have had a snortastically enjoyable trawl through your archives to find the meme – i must know – why and where and when did you bite max bygraves?
ha – see you’ve been tagged by paige anyway. what? she didn’t tell you yet? whoops …
Oh my, poor Rudi and his pustular rear. My dog once had a pustular penis. Those vet bills just kill me. Wanna know how he got the pustular penis. Our other dog bit it. Really hard, apparently.
Your so funny.
I know it’s 10:30am where you’re at, so have a terrific day.
Well? Have you found the poo?
(I can’t believe I just asked someone that ….)
ewww bleugh
If cats had opposable thumbs, we would be totally screwed.
Used to love cats.
Now really really don’t.
They are pure evil.
No, honestly.
Anything that sucks the breath of humans in horror movies is something that we should regard with a mixture of fear and respect. Granted, dogs are a slobbery lot, but at least you know the score with them. Cats? Not so much.
Your cat’s vengeful nature sounds frighteningly similar to my mother’s Siamese cat. That cat despises everyone on the planet, except my mom! Anytime they have company, the cat attempts to demonstrate its displeasure with their presence through urine and fesces! That is why we don’t have pets!!!!!!!!
The shit in question is probably the size of a dime. As you know, one of the most infuriating (and mystical!) facets of cat poo is its ability to be so small yet travel (odor-wise) so far. In fact, I revise my previous prediction: not only is it probably dime-sized, but it’s also probably two rooms away … from your neighbor’s house.
Thank you very, very much for your most recent comment on my blog. It was indescribably comforting.
Poor Rudi’s bottom and poor you guys. I must admit, though, that I seriously was doubled over in laughter at it all. Not so much because I find pee and pooh humorous, but because I have 4 cats myself and I totally understand the war dilemma.
To Rudi’s health!
Why is it that the best of men seem to be so easily beaten by cats?
I can relate. 😉
Steve~
Moobz, I wish you the best of luck in this war….I am completly behind you…and equaly glad that I have a dog not a cat.
Hi Moobs,
Will you please please with sugar update the link to crankmama on your site so that it is linked to
http://www.crankmama.com
Thanks!
Rachael
All done funny lady.
The final score: We found the poo. It was a meagre pellet secreted inside one of my most expensive shoes, buried under others at the back of the cupboard. How he managed this we will never know.
Ah, the ol’ poop-in-the-shoe trick… thank you, friend, for reminding me why I no longer have a feline in this house.
Best of luck in the next round of battles with Rudi!!