Tag Archives: Pet

A Pet’s Tale

26 Jan
Bloody Bat

A bit of fun for you, courtesy of a rather good writing prompt from last Sunday’s Stockport Art Gallery Writing Group‘s meeting.

 

 

 

 

A Pet’s Tale

Once there was a spoiled young girl
Her eyes were brown, her hair was curled
She loved to use the telephone
To call her Gran and have a moan
About her little night-time pet
An over-friendly vampire bat

She fed him peach and apple pie
And wondered why he did not fly
She could not see that he was fat
So large, he squashed the family cat
Who died and went off to pet heaven
(That’s what we say to girls of seven)

The bat was called Subversive Jim
By the people close to him
He liked to bury his soft face in
The young girl’s neck and and ear and chin
Sneaking blood when she wasn’t looking
For vampire bats most love sucking

We’re almost done with our sad tale
The child, alas, became quite pale
Her blood supply at last ran out
Leaving old Jim rather stout
But he got his just desserts
He died when his appendix burst

The dead cat’s kin (remember him?)
Gobbled up the greedy Jim
Of Jim was left just one blind eye
Now the end is really nigh
Hear the moral of this story:
Owning pets is sometimes gory

 

 

 

My Fascist Goldfish

25 Jan

Here’s the thing: the Hub loves animals.  I think you know that.  He’s always mooning over the geese in the park; yesterday he trained three scared mothers and their even more scared offspring to not only feed the geese but to let them take the bread from their hands.  A good day’s work.

That would be fine if his love of animals stayed in the park, but it spills over into our home and makes the thing I hate most in the world: clutter.  We don’t have one gerbilarium, we have three, all different sizes.  We have seven bags of food that our dead gerbil will never eat.  We have three leads per dog and one spare in case we lose five; the dogs have two and five coats (Molly is nesh); boxes of dog treats; boxes of gerbil treats; and – and I really wish I was exaggerating here but I’m not – four huge binbags full of gerbil toys, courtesy of Freegle and car boot sales.  How sad that you can’t take it with you, or Callie would be the happiest gerbil in heaven and I would be the happiest housewife on earth. 

A cage the Hub built for the gerbils to exercise in. It's stuffed behind the couch now.

As well as all that, we have the fish.  You may remember I rescued Bill last year from his little plastic tank and his lonely existence.  The Hub approved so much that he immediately bought a proper tank and five other fish for company.  Bill is thriving, as are the other four (one was a weakling who couldn’t cut it in the big world, sadly).  So much so, they outgrew their tank and the Hub insisted we get them a bigger one.  To be fair, the small big tank was horribly dark and dank compared to the big big tank. 

The Hub replaced the stones with sand, bought more fresh plants, rocks and wood.  And four shrimp; ostensibly because ‘they’ll clean the tank’ but really because ‘they’re sooooo cute.’

The tank is lovely. 

But there was one horrible, unforeseen and appalling side-effect: if the fish can see us, we can see the fish.  Here’s Jock:

Or Adolf, as he’s now known.

In Memory Of A Beloved Rodent

11 Jan

Callie The Gerbil, RIP

independent; she had her pride.
liked sitting by our pet dog’s side.
snug in her bed, she upped and died.

she lived for food.  and food.  and food.
ever the lady, she always chewed.
she never burst, but she’s still dood.

she liked to sit alone to feed;
privacy her greatest need.
she popped her clogs; poor Callie’s deed.

nothing bad she ever said.
her best hobby: being fed.
it makes me sad to think she’s dead.

   

And just to prove you can’t fight instinct:

 

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