Confessions of shonky housewifery, bad cat mothers and wicked pets. #domesticdisasters

What I am about to confess paints me in a pretty poor light, so if you’re squeamish about people with low hygiene standards it’s probably best you don’t read this. Likewise, if you have the well-trained, well-behaved pets, or the smallest iota of pride in yourself, look away now.

These are photos of my cat, Harrison.

img_2404 20160908_170355

Butter wouldn’t melt, would it?

Harrison is very bright and very inquisitive.

20141205_104902 20150716_092951 Don't ask me how he got under there.

Unfortunately, Harrison is also a thief.

He’s not a small time thief either. He has utterly failed to grasp the concept of the word, ‘No’. He is a delinquent. For example, of all the places available to him to go, he chooses to visit the garden of the next door neighbour who is allergic to cats. I have tried to stop him but he climbs a 15ft trellis like a ladder and strolls over. Short of electrifying it I can see no way to stop him. Yet I feel I should be able to make him understand, because I could have done with the other cats I’ve owned. But this one, no. I am a bad cat mother.

McOther is under the cosh at work and yesterday I decided it would be kind to sort out dinner – usually he likes to cook. As I did so, I noticed that a spare steak (barbecued) had been in our Fridge for four days. I couldn’t help thinking that, while I was sorting out left overs lamb spag bol, I could make a steak one too and freeze it for us to eat next week. So I got the plate out. But then McMini wanted something and I went to help him.

Then I realised I’d left a fillet steak, unattended, in the vicinity of our cat. I swiftly returned to the kitchen and …

The steak was still there.

Wow, I thought. Yes, McCat could only be in one place, pestering the poor woman with the allergy next door. Because if he was round ours, the steak would have gone. Either that or he was down the road in Tesco’s trying to get out of the cold meats section with a whole roast chicken. Anyway, I cooked, undisturbed. Then, lulled into a false sense of security by the continued (apparent) absence of our cat, I went and put some onion skins in the compost. When I came back I went to get the steak to mince it up.

It had gone.

‘Bollocks!’ I shouted (quietly because I didn’t want McMini to hear).

‘Have you seen Harrison?’ I asked McMini.

‘No. Did you just say “bollocks” Mummy?’

‘No. Why would I say that? Must go, I think Harrison’s got the steak.’

Hmm, it had been there a moment ago, I knew the little blighter couldn’t have gone far. I ran outside. No sign, then I looked round the side of the porch and there, fillet steak hanging from his mouth, was McCat. He greeted me with a delighted look-how-clever-I-am brrrp.

‘BAD BOY!’ I shouted and smacked him, to what was, quite obviously, his total bemusement.

I seized the steak and went inside. Immediately I was gripped by remorse. He doesn’t understand that hunting on the kitchen side is verboten. I have always been able to make other cats understand very easily but this one has no clue. I examined the steak. It was a little damp one end, with four obvious canine tooth holes but otherwise, apart from two blades of grass on the bottom, it appeared to be undamaged. I had a think and then I cut the dodgy bit off. I felt like an abusive husband trying to make up as I put it in the cat bowl and left it at the perpetrator’s food station. Because bad cat or not, I detest waste.

As for the rest of the steak. I wiped the blades of grass off it, ran it under the tap, patted it dry and, yes, I’m afraid I minced it and bunged it in the sauce!!!!!

Then I boiled the sauce.

Extensively.

For half an hour.

When I say boiled, I mean boiled. So hard that some of it spattered onto the ceiling, which was fun to wipe up.

Then I tasted it.

And it was good. But I had a conundrum. I had made a lovely sauce, but I certainly wouldn’t want a cat mauled steak served up to me at someone else’s house. OK, so one of my Mum’s mates served a pheasant her cat caught but it was not mauled and clearly brought to her as a gift: laid out on the kitchen step, bite-mark free, with nothing more than a wrung neck. That was different.

So I fessed up to McOther. Who refused to eat it. So it really is my lunch for today and next week.

I should throw it away, but it’s tasty. And it is most definitely pasteurised. On the downside, I might get worms because although our cat is wormed regularly he has vile habits, and if he does have worms I’m not sure how boiled worm eggs have to be to die. On the upside, at least if I do get worms, I’ll lose some weight.

So I’ve eaten some.

And it was still good …

But I’ll be checking my stools.

Please don’t tell me I’m about to die.

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18 Comments

Filed under General Wittering

18 responses to “Confessions of shonky housewifery, bad cat mothers and wicked pets. #domesticdisasters

  1. Do not distract me. I am busy. But I had to read that out. Properly cooked, no ill effects. What does a vegetarian know though?

  2. I’d have eaten it! Cat probably licks you, doesn’t it? So no worse than that… but then I have terrible kitchen habits (and, sadly, still rarely suffer from any weight-losing ill effects!)

  3. Thank you very much for the laugh, MT. What a saga! And home life IS like that when one has children or pets.

  4. 😀 LOL! Cat thief with worms…. Think you’ll be fine – if not piperizine will do 🙂

  5. Sad to say, I’d have eaten it as well. Our cats are ‘family’ after all. Quick thinking on your part. Cute post!

  6. I think McOther is a little squeamish – after all it was boiled AFTERWARDS and not before the cat got to it – so you should be good.

    Concerning the “bollocks” – McLittle is going to hear it anyway. If not from you, then from somebody else. Do not lie to your kid, rather make clear you should not have said it, as the word is not used in polite society.

    It is far more important that a child learns to use a swear word correctly (that is NOT in front of Great Aunt Madge or the vicar) than that McLittle never hears a mild swear word at all.

    If McLittle is old enough to ask you about it, McLittle is old enough to know the difference between mild swearing when something goes wrong and when not to use that and absolutely NO-GO words like the C-bomb. You cannot keep McLittle from swear words forever – but when McLittle hears them McLittle should know when to use them – and when not.

  7. No idea why I missed this, but I’m completely with you – eat it up.
    Of course, as I’m vegetarian, I regularly eat things that have grown in the ground, let alone been dropped on it 😀

  8. Diana

    I love Harrison! That first shot is a keeper. I also love your writing style.

  9. Might I suggest a cat trap at the neighbor’s house? To be handled only by you, of course. With the minor punishment of the cat being left in it for a significant amount of time (cats value their freedom). Cat allergies can be serious.

    The rest – hilarious. I’m surprised you’d leave anything out, though, knowing your cat.

    What do I know. My furniture bears the marks of chinchilla teeth on the legs. Fortunately, she has a small mouth – the chairs are still usable. I can’t supervise her every moment in the living room, and feel she needs some running-around time daily. Husband has been very accepting, or, rather, hasn’t complained. Much.

    • That’s a good idea about the neighbours. I have asked them if they’re OK with it and they’ve said it’s alright and that they just chase him away and so long as I don’t mind them doing that … so I told them, ‘chase away!’

      I love chinchillas, they are very cute. A friend used to have some.

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