Violence And Bloodshed
So I tried to put a bell on our cat Zoe (AKA The Chatsworth Terror) the other day.
She’s a tiny thing, rescued from the animal shelter four years ago. They told us at the time she was part of a litter of feral kittens that had been brought in. She was probably the runt of the litter; even four years later she’s not very big. And to us, she’s pretty sweet, although she’s never quite gotten used to the idea of just settling down into a lap and purring.
No, she’d rather be outside killing things.
I have never seen such slaughter. Lizards, birds, rats, mice, voles, gophers, even rabbits. All of them dragged into the house, some still struggling. Usually at three in the morning.
She was originally named after the Zoe character in the Sluggy Freelance webcomic. Given her gray-and-white coloring and murderous impulses, we probably should have named her after Bun-Bun instead. She doesn’t need a switchblade though — she comes with a full set, built in.
As I found out.
I know that putting a bell on a cat is not really going to solve much — they still manage to wreak mayhem. But it’s more for my own psyche than anything else. The next time she drags in something in its last throes, I can at least say “Dude, I’m sorry, but you gotta meet me halfway here! Listen for the bell!”
But first, of course, I had to bell the cat.
Lured her to the desktop with a Greenie cat treat, and tried to slip the belled collar on over her head. Oh, dear lord.
To give her credit, she wasn’t actually attacking me. She was just trying to get away, and I was trying to hang onto her. But it was like juggling a roaring chainsaw that I’d accidentally grabbed by the wrong end. I got SO shredded. Blood seeping from dozens of slashes all over my arms — I had to hose myself down with Lanacaine and wrap both arms in towels to stop the bleeding.
Note to self — wrap arms in towels PRIOR to belling cat.
And possibly wrap cat as well.
Still, finally got the bell on. Like all preventative security measures, it probably won’t do much good in the long run. But at least I can say I tried.
— Bob out.
Hello,
I’m re-reading your comic again, and this time I just read your note. I have a cat as well so I was ROTFL your whole story.
There’s a grove at the back of where I live. Last summer my cat must have depopulated it completely of wild mice. One night he brought one unscathed. Once my cat dropped it on the floor the poor thing quickly proceeded to hide in the closet. Oh what fun I had catching it and releasing it into the wild. I bid it farewell with those parting words: See ya tomorrow!
One friend of mine told me my cat was probably trying to teach me how to hunt. And he was probably right!
Thanks for your comic!
YAY! first comic I can comment on. Loving the comic and the commentary.
I’ve tried to bathe a cat. That led to enough blood loss, thank you.
I rescued a feral feline from a golf course I was working at when I was a teen. Ripped me to ribbons. Saved the cats (my eventual companion as well as his siblings)–the course was going to call an exterminator. He lived for years, was a great hunter. Gil-Galad I named him. Then spent hours explaining the name of course. Took about two months to tame him. Loved to head butt anyone sitting on the couch.