So John and I were walking down Kent Street in Flemington, trying to work out the best streets and 'items of interest' for the heritage walk brochure and website. We were busy chatting and stopping every now and then to look at a house or shop front or interesting street sign, both of us clicking away on our cameras.
Naturally, this kind of activity raises a bit of interest. A lady was standing next door, leaning on the low brick fence alongside the front lawn shared by the block of flats she lived in. Her pet cat was on a lead and making a noise that, if blindfolded, I would have sworn was the insane and frightening screetches done by Mel Blanc for the Warner Bros' Tasmanian Devil cartoons.
"So, what are you two doing," she called out cheerily.
We stopped and explained and her cat seemed in real danger of beheading itself as it tried desperately to hurl itself at our heads, a deadly growl punctuating every lunge.
"That's a gorgeous cat you have there," I ventured, praying that if the beast got free John would be closer and a tastier morsel.
"Yeh, he's not bad. Tends to run off if he's not on the lead though," his owner grunted, "and it takes me about half an hour to put the lead on, so he'd better make the most of it."
"What is the -- I took a few steps back when he hissed at my efforts at making eye contact -- er cute little guy's name?"
"Cuddles," she replied, without expression.
15 comments:
Oh, Priceless. That goes down in the annals with Fluffy the doberman and Spike the Pomeranian.
If I had a name like Cuddles and was forced out on a lead like that I reckon I've have that attitude too.
I'd be growling and hissing too, I suspect if I were a cat on a lead, especially if I was named Cuddles.
A bit like the killer rabbit in Monty Python, that.
That puppy in the post below, on the other hand, is squee-licious.
W/v = appropriately "mangl"
Cuddles. That's what I call Miss Jahteh. "Hey Cuddles, quit bashing that taxi driver."
If I ever get a dog I'm going to get one with very short legs and call it Napoleon.
Killer photo Kath. And I do mean a killer. Here kitty kitty!
What a gorgeous cat, such pretty markings. His name doesn't really suit him, though it probably did when he was a kitten. He looks more like a Bosco to me.
I was out and about with my camera today too.
LOL @ R.H.
I couldn't really read that post because I'm on a train and the glare through the window is blinding, but as far as I could tell it was a well rounded exposé of corruption in the Norwegian leather industry.
Haha . . isn't that what cat's do? Run off. Poor thing's probably trying to run away.
I didn't know who I felt more sorry for - the owner, for having to arm herself with oven mitts and a dose of scotch before tackling Cuddles
or Cuddles, for being seen out in public on a lead.
But you're correct, Radge - all of my posts are thinly veiled critiques of the Norwegian leather industry and how corruption is slowly eating away at its once-noble foundations. Cuddles is just one of a long line of powerful metaphors.
Mele, I want to meet your Napoleon when you get him!
Robbert, I'll have you know I value my taxi drivers except the ones who are complete morons and they don't get a tip.
Kath, why do I get the feeling that cuddles has not been snipped?
WV is awhugis which I wouldn't dare give to Cuddles.
Is it just me, or is there something completely wrong about a cat on a leash?
You know Jah Teh, I think the poor bugger had been snipped so maybe the leash - as well as the name - was the straw that broke this cranky cat's back?
It's completely wrong, PubMan. Very very wrong.
This is gold - it captures why I love cats so much. People always give their cats beautiful names, but it doesnt hide the inherent bitchiness of cats. I don't mind a cat on a lead - although my cat has learned that she only needs to be on a lead at my mum's house. Hubby and I are too soft to make her use a lead and the cat knows it - so we are doomed to a lifetime of rugby tacklings soggy moggies in the rain.
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