Blog Archives

Andrew’s facebook status says it all

Andrew's facebook status says it all


The boy or the pig

A great disservice has happened in the facebook world. James the Pig has 623 likes but Andrew’s Wheels on Wheels Project only has 23!

I can’t understand it! They both live in Redfern. They both frequent the park. They both have little bellies. Could it be the pig has more hair? The pig is more handsome?

I’m calling on all my friends to help end this injustice right now and like the Wheels on Wheels Project Page. At least help Andrew make it to triple figures and avoid the shame of being far less popular than a pig.


42: the answer to everything

We all know that according to Douglas Adams, the answer to life, the universe and everything is 42.

This morning I noticed I have 42 blog followers. In honour of this, are you up for a little nonsense? After a very frustrating morning, I know I am.

So here it is, I am going to collect 42 words from my followers; submit any word you like as long as it’s not a profanity. Then I’m going to use those 42 words in a blog post.

Now I imagine that not all 42 of my blog followers are going to respond to this post with a word. So in an effort to get 42 words and also to give me some choice, people can submit up to 3 words each. Simply post a comment to this post with your 3 words. They don’t have to be related to each other or to what anyone else posts either.

I’ll start. My three words are:




Please post your comments by Friday 27th January and I’ll have fun with my 42 words on the weekend.

Now, play nice!

Press This Fido

Attention WordPress. You’re on notice. This evening, I uncovered a catastrophe of epic proportions. A catastrophe which must be addressed to maintain balance in the universe.

Readers, I hope you are sitting down. Brace yourself. Here it is.

Dogs have made it to the wordpress tag cloud. Cats have not.

 How could this have been allowed to happen? I’ve just told Saffron. She’s outraged. Well, to be honest she’s sleeping. But if she weren’t sleeping she’d be out in the street burning her bra with Germaine Greer and championing feline rights. (Not at all sure what feminism has to do with felinism but it was the first thing that came to mind).

So ok, here’s my plan. Isobel, Flossie, Animalartist, Oldcat one of us has to get on Freshly Pressed. I want front and centre a blog post protesting canine feline inequality. I want hundreds of proud cat servants tagging their posts appropriately with four little letters (cats), so they can take their right of place next to dogs.

Perhaps wordpress only allows animals with eyebrow muscles to make it to their tag cloud. Well, that’s just unfair. How heartbroken do you imagine Licorice will be when I tell her that it’s down to missing eyebrow muscles that she has to be searched for and cannot simply ‘be clicked’?

Yes, guys, one week into housesitting 4 cats in a one bedroom unit, I’ve lost it a little.

I want the boy to return. When here’s here the cups that I put in the sink magically wash themselves and levitate back into the cupboards. When he’s here, well, I’m there (being home).

Today I ended up wearing a t-shirt with paint on it to work. I apologised to my boss for my appearance. I explained I only packed limited clothes and didn’t check for paint spatters first.

As for the ‘cat farm’, as Andrew is calling this temporary feline storage arrangement, tonight it’s gone a little pear shaped. Well, pickle shaped to be precise. For some reason Pickle wants to chase everyone. Licorice, Saffron and Gesso are all fair game. Neither is the preferred ‘chasee’. He did go into a momentary lull while I was watching television. As soon as I turned out half the lights to go to bed it was ‘game on’. He probably heard me typing about cat inequality and it got him all fired up. Segregation has been re-instated. I’ve taken refuge in the bedroom with Licorice and Saffron. Poor Gesso will just have to outrun him until he decides it’s no fun anymore.

However back to the task at hand. So, do I have your assistance fellow cat lovers? Are you ready to tag? One word – cat plural. I don’t care which kind. Any cats, all cats, as long as they’re cats. Deaf ones, fat ones, old ones, new ones. I want blogs being tagged with cats. They can be three-legged, blind, neurotic or ragdoll happy, I don’t care. Torties, calicos, black, white, tabbies, ginger ninjas and even pink ones; it’s time for cats to take their pride of place in the wordpress tag cloud. If I don’t see a freshly pressed cat by the end of the week, I’ll be upset. C’mon! Your aloof independent cranky masters are depending on you: be the dutiful cat servant and tag your posts now. Together we can build a ‘cats’ tagging army and give those dog lovers a run for their money.

PPM Scientific Fact or Fiction?

I caught a snippet of Yes Minister the other night at its best. For Hacker and Humphrey fans it was the episode which sees Hacker describe Buranda as a TPLAC (Tin-pot little African Country). While it’s clear that as far as back as the 1980s, TLAs and FLAs were commonplace among people (Three lettered acronyms and Four lettered acronyms), I wonder when they hit the pet, and in particular, the cat world.

I give you 3 examples.

The first came from my vet. Saffron has FIC. For a second, I wondered why Saffron looked terrified. Then I realised, oh, she must be having a instance of SAC (severe acronym confusion). She was greatly relieved when I told her that FIC stood for Feline Idiopathic Cystitis not the Fur Industry of Canada.

The second instance of PRA (Pet Related Acronyms) came via my mother’s neurologist (where else?). He noted a cat hair on my mother’s clothes and struck up a conversation about the culprit. I asked, do you have a cat Professor?

Oh she died. She was senile. Unlike dogs, she didn’t have CCD. Have you heard about that? Yes, they’re calling it Canine Cognitive Dysfunction. Have you heard such a thing? Does your dog look at you strangely? Does he stare like he cannot remember who you are? Then he may have CCD.

I kid you not. That was the speech the professor came out with. Thanks to a neurologist, I became aware that CCD was the new senility for dogs.

The third PRA to make it into the venacular (at least in my family) is PPM. Are you wondering what Parts per Million has to do with the cats? The ratio of flea dirt to cat fur perhaps. Or if my kitties are addicted to Peter, Paul and Mary? No, only one of them is deaf. That can’t be it.

For those shrewd people who have used an Acronym Finder to decode PPM, I assure you that Licorice has not got a permanent pacemaker; though with her magnificent belly I do wonder whether her arteries may be bearing a little more fat than the slimline Gesso.

No, PPM, stands for Pre-Poo Madness. I want to know whether this is scientific fact or fiction? I’m convinced it’s a genuine condition.

How is it that I have had numerous cats, living in different households, who, as if possessed by a banshee desperate for its evening cocoa, howls around the house at full speed.

PPM is marked by a distinctive pattern of running wildly; furiously; without care about what you will smack into and then freezing for a full second before turning 180 degrees and hurtling back the other way. Please, someone out there tell me that your cat has PPM. I will feel so relieved to know that it is not just my girls and boys who are subject to this terrible state, from which they can only escape after using their litter tray to poo. I know that I have a few dozen followers and right around the globe as well; most of us blessed to spend our lives as cat servants. So write to me and let me know if your moggy has Pre-Poo Madness. It could be simply an Australian disease, kept safe within this continent by our island borders. Or maybe it is global; I so want to know.

I fear in writing this post that AA has reared its ugly head. I refer not to Alcoholics Anonymous but Acronym Addiction. I wonder if there is an AAA for that?

An accessible little Christmas

As if on cue, the editor of ABC’s site Ramp Up, Stella Young has published a fantastic article demonstrating the ‘wicked sense of humour’ to which I referred in Dating Disability Style. The first gives the ‘darkness’ of Andrew’s discrimination claim again the suicide hot spot “The Gap” a run for it’s money. She writes:

The other Christmas tradition I think we could perhaps tinker with in the name of increasing access is our old friend the turkey. So far, I’ve gotten away with going home for Christmas and having my lovely Mum cook the turkey but now that I’m a grown up, it’ll eventually be my turn to host Christmas and do the lunch. As I mentioned, I’m kind of small. The turkey is, as birds go, one of the more humongous ones. Hoofing a meal that’s weighs about the same as you into an oven is no mean feat and I’m a bit frightened of doing a Sylvia Plath.

The second, is a comment sparked by this line of the article:

I’ve noticed that the increased amount of people in shopping centres can have some extra consequences for wheelchair users. There are more people to interrupt you while you’re waiting in ludicrously long queues to ask what’s wrong with you.

The first time I was out with Andrew and a complete stranger came up to him and said ‘what happened to you?’ I was completely taken aback. Now I know that it does happen. Andrew, to date, hasn’t had the best come back lines, offering up a rather lame ‘I fell over’. He needs to take a leaf out of stella’s book:

I was asked that question a couple of days ago while at lunch with a friend. My response: “I just got soy sauce on my favourite top.”

If you want a good belly chuckle, head over to Stella’s article: Have yourself an accessible little Christmas. Priceless.