OPINION: Sorry cat, just didn't work out between us
Comment by Damian Bathersby: THE cat's finally gone.
Not "gone" like the time dad told us the budgie had "gone to heaven".
And certainly not "gone" like "that mongrel dog which barks all night has gone to live on a farm ..."
No, the cat's just gone back to the foster people so they can find him another family.
It just wasn't working out.
It all started fine because he knew his place in the household - us on the lounge; him curled up at our feet.
Or on our lap.
I didn't even mind when he wanted to curl up on top of my head.
But then he started to get too big for his boots. I'd find him sitting in my place on the lounge and my attempts to shift him were met with hissing and bared teeth.
I lost count of the number of nights I sat on the floor to watch TV while the cat and my wife sat entwined on the lounge.
But I'm not a jealous sort of bloke.
And I'm used to rejection.
But then he turned on her and began sinking his claws into her arm when she tried to stroke him.
He even bit her a few times.
We soon found ourselves sitting together on the floor to watch TV while the cat sprawled on the lounge, daring us to try to move him.
Trust me, it wasn't as romantic as it sounds.
We got him a little friend - the cutest little ball of fur you've ever seen - in the hope he would learn to be nice.
He beat him to a pulp the first time they met.
Then my beer began to disappear and I was finding empties tucked down behind the lounge.
Things really deteriorated after that as the cat went from rude to downright belligerent.
He would snarl at us as we came in the door, demanding to know where his dinner was and throwing things around the room when he didn't get his own way.
Finally, after yet another night curled up on the mat beside his bed, we decided we'd had enough.
So the cat's gone back to the foster home in the hope they can have better luck than we did getting him to attend AA meetings.
Now my wife wants to adopt a retired greyhound.
Sort of a twisted case of empty nest syndrome.
But I'm not so sure. We're talking about an animal that spent its life hanging around race tracks and trying to run down small furry animals.
What are the chances of him not having a drinking problem?