Queen and Latifa

Welcome to the second guest post on Q&L. I am chuffed to bits that my friends are prepared to write something for my camp kitty blog. Afterall, Q&L, however much my readers might love it too, is an incredibly indulgent blog by a particularly silly and queeny thirty something who is unhealthily obsessed with his somewhat contrary cat. So I truly am humbled that people want their work to be posted up here despite the blog’s frivolity.

This guest post is by my friend Joey Abad. Joey is another chap that I have known for donkey’s years through roleplaying games. If I had to describe Joey in few words, I’d simply say ‘an all round good egg’. His dry Northern humour has me in stitches over the headset on World of Warcraft, and his genuine decency is something I deeply admire. Joey is one of the most honest, down to earth blokes that I have met in my life: I like to think that I call a spade a spade, but Joey would go as far as calling it a s**t shovel.

Yes, I did just swear. And yes, I know that this is supposed to be a family friendly blog (hence the asterisks). Joey’s blog, Random Rants –an unashamed ranty blog about the flaws of modern British life, does not share my policy on not using swearwords, and neither does his guest post for Q&L. Please take note this before continuing onto Joey’s post.

Have fun,

M x

*****

It is understandable how so many pet owners are proud of their pets, especially those that keep dogs. Dogs are highly intelligent and can be trained to do many tasks ranging from fetching a ball, sniffing out drugs, guiding the blind to even waking deaf people up in the event of a fire.

It is not surprising then that canines are called affectionately mans best friend, my dog on other hand at first glance is a complete and utter little shit head. Gosh, am I not supposed to be an animal lover? I still love him, I love him to bits, but the fact remains that he is a little shit.

He will gladly play fetch, and if I have food in my hand he will sit and stay for hours. He knows when it is my 5 year old sons bed time, as soon as it gets to 7:30pm, Bernie my Lakeland Terrier runs up to my son, and begins to bark at him to go up to bed. He is far from stupid.

If he wants to go out he will jump up at me, paw my legs and if any of that fails will gently pull on my fingers with his teeth until I get up off my arse. It would be easy for many people who don’t know my dog to think of him as stupid, because he does have a mind of his own and knows what he wants and when he wants it, he is far from obedient unless food is involved.

Many people consider themselves to be the masters of their pets without even giving the matter a second thought but as far as I am concerned anybody thinking this should spend an evening alone with their pet without any distractions like TV or music.

Watch your pet be it a cat or dog and consider what it is thinking and what it is going to do, you will be amazed at how they can manipulate you into doing what they want. We feed, groom, stroke, walk and play with our pets without even considering that our pets told us to do it by either rubbing themselves against us, barking, meowing and begging etc at us.

They are the masters, next time you tell you dog to sit and then pat him on the head ask yourself why he did that, was it to sit down or because he was expecting the pat on the head or the treat?

Joey Abad

This is the first of what I hope will be a series of successful guest posts. I'd like to thank my friend Steve Tierney for having the bravery to write the first!

Steve is a friend that I have known for about 15 years through roleplaying (D&D, etc). He is the County Councillor for the Roman Bank & Peckover Division of North-East Cambridgeshire, and writes what he describes as 'a Fenland blog with a Conservative flourish': Getting The message Out. Whatever your political persuasion (and I'm not going to ever state mine on this blog), Steve's blog is an enjoyable read as said 'flourish' makes it a lot more than 'just a Conservative's blog' which has been recognised by him receiving a number of awards.

So I hope you enjoy the first guest post, and if you'd like to write one, get in touch!

Have fun,

M x

*****

One of the wonderful things about humans is that we are able to rise above the animalistic nature of our origins and care about other living things.

My dogs Toblerone, Suzy and Bumble do not care about the hedgehogs they regularly find (and tear apart) in the garden. But I'm furious with them and horrified by what they've done, which is pressed brutally home while I am forced to clean up the aftermath of their grisly game.

My cat Flash, now long gone, had no pity for the baby sparrow he trapped and batted around the garden, but he made himself scarce when I came rushing along to save the little bird from his heartless ministrations.

When a fox gets into a chicken coop and utterly destroys all the birds therein, he does not do it because he is hungry and plans to eat them all, but just because he can and because there is no reason not to. The fox cannot feel empathy for its prey and so it massacres without remorse and with reckless abandon.

In truth it is we, the humans, which are the odd man out. Evolution (or God, if you prefer and are so inclined), has equipped us with language, reason, imagination, creativity - and empathy.

Those humans who do not possess these traits are the ones which go on to try and exterminate people who they dislike, disagree with or just want out of the way. Men and woman who lack empathy are the monsters who would drag us back to the level of other animals - pursuing only what is best for themselves and without care for other people and living things.

Without wanting to get too philosophical, we are the dominant animal on the planet by quite some stretch. Therefore, you might argue that these unusual traits which make us so special and part-and-parcel with why we are so successful.

Consequently, when Mark types on Facebook that he needs to "stop being such a queen" because he is upset about his unwell cat, or when he writes with such heartfelt concern about the object of his love and affection I would caution him on being self-critical. Your capacity to care represents a fundamental empathy. It is a great strength, not a weakness.

Steve Tierney

If you're after one of my usual light-hearted blogs, perhaps you should give this one a miss. I have no intention of making a habit of posting maudlin entries, but even Q&L can have a rough day...

I took 'Tifa to the vet today for her yearly jabs and general check up, and since her last check up in 2008, she's developed a heart murmur. It's not a serious one, and the vet didn't recommend any treatment or changing anything for her at all. He didn't even think that I need to take her to the vet more regularly than the current once a year. But she still has a heart murmur which, to me, means that, despite outward appearance, she's now frail.

The best thing to happen to me all year, actually probably the best decision I ever made in my life: my beautiful girl, has a heart murmur.

I nearly hit other cars on the way home because I was crying behind the wheel. I couldn't concentrate at work in the afternoon because I was so choked up. I'm currently sat alone at home wallowing in self-pity and only just managing to stop myself from reaching for the vodka.

The vet has said it's nothing to worry about. My friends with cats have said it's nothing to worry about. The manager I know from the RSPCA has said it's nothing to worry about. I'm not very good at not worrying. The deep, bitter irony of it all is that the one man that I ever truly loved had a heart condition too, and this has sent me into a spiral of worry and sadness and remorse and regret and nostalgia for the relationship that I had with him too.

I've been told that cats can live for years with a heart murmur, especially a weak murmur like 'Tifa's. I've been told that she may not even have one and it may be misdiagnosed because she was stressed out from being taken away from the flat. And these things will eventually help me to live with the knowledge. But not yet.

I love that bloody cat so very much, and I feel like she's been handed a death sentence.

Perhaps tomorrow I'll realise that this gut-wrenching horror that is actually making me feel physically unwell is merely the melodrama over a queen prone to overreaction. But not today. And if I know myself, I'll bounce back relatively quickly. After all, the crazy diva is still exactly the same cat as she was yesterday when I was living in blissful ignorance and she's obviously fine. She just played with a cat toy and darted off. She meowed and got all giddy over cat treats a few hours ago. She got all curious about the strap on my shoulder bag and pawed at it before that. She's being 'Tifa. She's clearly not bothered by the murmur, so why should I be?

She's fine.

I will be again soon too.

Sorry to post something like this, but it's helped me a little so I hope you don't mind too much. Normal service will resume soon, I promise.

M x

I may not always agree with his politics, but Steve Tierney is a friend and I enjoy reading his lively blog. He is a fellow geek and Conservative Councillor. The focus of his blog is politics, but he also indulges in other topics (such as geekery). He is also a particularly brave chap inasmuch as he asked a Liberal Democrat to write a guest post on his Conservative blog. I thought that this was admirable, and an interesting concept. Guests posts are an interesting idea at the best of times, but guest posts from someone that isn't obvious is a great idea. 

This got me thinking, I'd like the occassional guest poster too - both obvious choices and more unusual choices like the Liberal Democrat on Steve's blog. Perhaps someone who is a 'dog person'? Or a self-confessed cat hater? Maybe someone who works with cats or other animals?

Any guest post would have to be loosely linked (and it can be very loose) to either kitties or gayness, but if you're up for it, why not get in touch? Please contact me with your concept for a guest post if you're interested.  

Cheers,

M x

There's an old cliché that pets start to resemble their owners...

I am blessed with a metabolism that means that whatever I eat, I don't get fat. I can be incredibly unfit (and I currently am, unfortunately), but I never get a tum or weigh much more than 11 stone. I've been warned that it'll catch up with me, and I'm sure it will, but 31 years and counting, it hasn't yet. If I did put on weight, my opinion would probably be different to what I'm about to express, but I don't see the point of a culinary indulgence if you're going to debase it! As such, I always have full fat cheeses/ spreads, fizzy drinks, chocolate products, etc. As far as I'm concerned, it's not an indulgence if you actually think about the bad stuff: that ruins the pleasure one gains from the indulgence.

The reason for the title of this blog is that I often say something that borders on a catchphrase when challenged about my fizzy drink choices: "I don't do diet." This is in reference to the fact that I'd rather have a glass of water over a glass of Diet Coke. If I'm going to have Coca-Cola, I want Coca-Cola, not wishy washy, flavourless, gassy Diet.

Turns out that the diva kitty has a very similar attitude. She loves cow milk, and if I ever leave a glass of milk unattended, she's there like a shot lapping it up. But as we know, cow milk is bad for kitty cats and she really shouldn't be drinking it, but special cat milk is okay. As such, being the doting queen that I am, I generally have a stock of cat milk in to give to my princess. The thing is, if I put down a bowl of cat milk, she treats it with disdain! She'll play at it and, more often than not, will eventually drink it over a day, but she has nothing resembling the gusto for cat milk that she does for cow milk.

So there you go, like her queeny owner/ housekeeper, the diva don't do diet!

M x

Does anyone remember Swizzels Fizzers?

For those of you that didn't grow up in the 80s, these sweets were particularly popular in Britain during that period. They are fizzy, slightly chalky sweets that, as a kid, I was particularly fond of. As is somewhat common amongst most thirty somethings, for me, 80s retro is a guilty pleasure and a special indulgence. As such, when I saw a big pack of Swizzels sweets (predominantly full of stuff, such as Fizzers, that I would personally consider 80s sweets) in Sainsburys the other day, I added it to my basket on a whim.

So there I was later that evening eating from my bag of retro sweets including such classics as Drumsticks, Mr Chews, and Fizzers, and as is 'Tifa's norm, when she saw I was eating, she wanted some. So up she comes, meowing and tromping all over my lap, begging for people food. She will leave cat food for hours on end before eating it, but as soon as there is an opportunity for people food, she all over you, begging for some.

In the past, 'Tifa has enjoyed, amongst many others, cheddar, Fray Bentos pie, pate, fish fingers, and lasagne. She has rejected, amongst many other things, chocolate, haribo, and pineapple after giving them a try. So to get rid of her, I put a fizzer in front of her, knowing that she wouldn't like it given her track record with sweet things. And as usual, she gave it a quick, cautionary, taster lick. It turns out that the diva kitty wasn't quite ready for fizziness on her tongue, and she pulled a hilarious scrunged up face, whacked the offending fizzer across the room, scowled at me, and darted off.

It's rare I get one up on my cat, and I know I should have felt guilty for inflicting freakout fizzy tongue on my poor unsuspecting princess, but I did laugh! Poor 'Tifa!

M x

I'm dead chuffed!

It's something that I've wanted to do for a while, but this was my first opportunity to attend the training: I am now officially an RSPCA Volunteer Home Visitor. I have a certificate, and everything!

My new volunteer work isa vital part of the adoption process for rescue cats from the RSPCA. I have opted not to do other animals as I'm not really aware of the issues involved with animals other than cats, but it is possible to be a home visitor for any rescue animals. I am responsible for going to potential new owners' homes and assessing whether they'll be appropriate owners for the cat that they want. I remember Beth, the Home Visitor who came to my flat, being particularly lovely: you're there not to just check that everything is appropriate there for the people to become pet owners, but also to offer advice that the potential new owners might need. If the people pass, you then subsequently do a second visit to check that the kitty has settle in and that everything is okay for both the people and the kitty.

It's an opportunity for me to give something back to the wonderful people whom I got 'Tifa from. It's also an opportunity for me to meet many, many kitties! Hooray!

If anything interesting arises from any of my home visits, I'll be sure to post something on Q&L!

M x

That's 'Batchelor of Arts', not 'Bad Attitude' (although oftentimes she can be accused of the latter)...

I was recently made aware of a BBC documentary that managed to register a cat as hypnotherapist. This got me thinking deliciously childish thoughts: what could I register 'Tifa as or get her qualified in? What mailing lists could I get the diva kitty to join? A friend of mine went through a particularly fruity stage of joining as many mailing lists as humanly possibly and making up the most ridiculous names possible (I'm sure I remember Barbara Smellipoo being one of them) and seeing if bands/ cluns/ etc would notice or not and send information to his parents home.

So, if I actually get off my backside and bother to do this (a la wanting to make 'Tifa an official lolcat and/ or launch a Q&L webcomic), I shall post up what qualifications I've gained for the diva kitty or what associations I've managed to join on her behalf. Or, as I suspect is likely, it'll remain a mildy amusing, silly thought...

M x

A week ago, I mentioned that I was contemplating getting rid of 'Tifa's basket in favour of an exercise bike. Well, this is a follow up to that particularly life changing entry to this blog.

I couldn't quite bring myself to do it: it was 'Tifa's basket, however indifferent she had been to it. She's my princess and I dote upon her, and I couldn't quite bring myself to remove her basket. Surely all cats need a basket? I did, however, decide that the exercise bike definitely needed to be in the front room to coerce me into doing some form of exercise ever: it was my motivational tool to get myself out of the rut that is me being the least fit that I have been in my entire life. So I had a reshuffle, and managed to just about fit the various items I have in the front room allowing for the addition of the exercise bike without the removal of the basket. It's a bit cluttered and somewhat garish, but then, I've always been told that my flat is 'very me', so I guess it's just a little bit more like me than ever.

I was cynical as to her ever using the basket. Then suddenly, for seeminly no reason, she was constantly sat in it! I was stunned. She suddenly loves that basket, and has officially added it to her favourite places within my (her) home: end of bed, computer chair, Mark's lap, left hand side of the sofa, behind the telly, and now, basket. Madness!

Then I realised. The new basket location is next to the radiator. And it happened to be moved there on the same day as I switched the heating on. Diva kitty likes the snuggley warmth! What's the betting she becomes indifferent to the basket again next summer?

Oh, and I still haven't had a go on the exercise bike...

M x

'Tifa has recently developed a particularly bad habit - naughty diva!

As I've mentioned previously, once I've gone to bed and am asleep, she likes to snuggle up to me and go to sleep herself. Almost without fail, I wake up the following morning with a kitty in my lap. However, sometimes I might not sleep in my own bed for whatever reason, and 'Tifa has made it quite clear that she does not appreciate it. The last few times that I've come home the morning after staying over somewhere else, she has meowed hostiley and given me a bop on the ankle. I feel a little like Andy Capp being admonished by Flo! It's almost like she's saying "And where have you been?!"

Mean, yet cute and amusingly divaish: pretty much parr for the course with my Princess, then?

Have fun,

M x