No. My cat was my best mate. Used to walk with me to the shop. That I was much bigger didn't make any difference, if he was pissed off with me he'd let me know and with the razors in his paws could have really hurt me but never did. He wouldn't have done if he was the size of a lion. If I live to 100 I'll still miss him. I wouldn't hurt him and he wouldn't hurt me.
Yes. This is the thing with cats. People who don’t like them, or like dogs, just think they’re all the same. But I’ve been owned by cats all my life. They’ve all had very different personalities and relationships with me. We’ve got two at the moment. One would kill me if she was the size of a lion. By doing what she always does. Sleeping on my chest at night.
I've loved cats who would fc*k me over. I know what the species is capable of. And I've read the spurious, disingenuous arguments of the narcissists and sociopaths who are currently patrolling this BBS and I know who I connect better with.
Like this one https://i2.wp.com/d3bdanh5n7adyg.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/04131300/Elaine-Cats-291x350.jpg?resize=333,399&ssl=1
All our cats have been different. We once had a ginger cat called Allan, named after Allan Clarke. He was totally barmy, and would have mad ten minutes where he would run the length of the house, up the curtains, bounce of the ceiling, and back across the room to the other side again, until he was knackered. One Saturday night, me and my sister were getting ready to go out. She was doing her make up, so I decided to take a lie down on the bed. I'd only had one drink, but felt decidedly weird - as if the room was moving. Turned out it wasn't the room, it was the bed that was moving. Allan had taken himself off for a nap, in between the mattress, and the bed base. Obviously the weight of me lying on the bed had woken him. Worried I may have crushed him, I looked under the mattress, and he just looked back, purring as if it was the most comfortable sleep ever. Bonkers.
this is our little bundle of fun that decided she wanted to live with us, her original owner gave up and asked if we wanted her, we love her to bits even if she decides that she wants to attack our feet.
One of the cutest things ever was finding my toddler curled up in the tiniest space behibd the sofa with the cqt. Hadn't a clue she was there, been looking all over for her!
I once took in a stray cat when I lived on Princess Street. It was a reight psycho! Even escaped the vets when I took it in to have it's nads lopped off (I was told this would calm him down). Ended up getting him back five days later and when we moved to Brierley he was the scourge of the neighourhood. Apparently he used to head butt neighbours ' french doors and I had complaints about him attacking dogs etc.
I wish they would stop crapping in my garden. Perhaps the owners ought to be made to pick it up and take it home in a little pooh bag a la our canine friends.