Tag Archives: black cat

Happy Birthday Pebbles


Happy birthday Pebbles!

Our little black cat, Pebbles, the very Pebbles who inspired the name of this blog after I once again tripped over her  in the middle of the night, has reached the grand old age of twenty. We don’t know her exact birthday but we believe it to be somewhere around new year.

I remember the day we got her, and the reason why. Let’s take a walk down memory lane together, dear reader and I’ll share my story with you.

Lashes, little more than a curly haired and hazel eyed toddler suddenly and out of the blue  developed a profound fear of cats.  Hardly able to walk down the street without screeching like a banshee every time she saw one, we decided action was needed.

” We’ll get a little, cute kitten, everyone likes little, cute kittens, don’t they?”

“What? To scare her with  every time she misbehaves?”

“No, love. To help her over her fear of cats.”

So started weeks of trying to find a cat. The RSPCA had none, neither did the Cats’ Protection League. After a long trip out to a cat sanctuary, they told us they’d heard of a place near where we lived that had cats they wanted rid of.

We drove all the way back to visit the people with the spare cats.

It transpired that they already had dogs but had taken in a cat out of the goodness of their hearts. This cat promptly had kittens, and before they’d got rid of them all, one of the kittens had had kittens. These people were all catted out. If they never saw another cat again it would have been too soon. Their lives had been a mess of yowling, barking, fighting, pooing smelly animals ever since they’d done their good deed.

In we walked, “We’d like it to be a boy.”

“This is a boy.” they said as they thrust a bundle of black fur at us. To be honest if we’d have said me wanted a martian they’d have told us it was one.

For about a nanosecond, this little, black ball of fluff sat trembling in the palm of my hands. “We’ll take it.” I said, assessing the sadness of it’s situation rather than it’s suitability as a pet for our darling daughter.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth this harmless little kitten turned into a whirling dervish of the grandest magnitude.  It launched itself from my hands onto the sofa, bounced of the sofa and ran round the walls at lightning speed like Evel Kneivel riding the  wall of death. Off  the wall it finally came, by taking a flying leap halfway across the room onto  the curtains which it used as a springboard before  finally coming  to rest – hanging off the tv. It only came to rest there because it got a claw stuck and couldn’t move.   I think that the poor thing had had to fight to not end up as a dog snack from the moment it was born and had learned how to make a quick getaway. Certainly it’s survival skills had been honed to perfection and it was definitely nippy on it’s feet.

I walked over and plucked her ( Yes, her. Not him as requested) from where she was dangling helplessly in front of the television screen.

By now the owner had given up trying to tell me what a lovely wee thing it was and just looked at me wordlessly, imploring me with her eyes to take it away but obviously thinking we wouldn’t after it’s display of ‘cute kittenness.’

Of course we did take her, although we spent the whole drive home wondering what the hell we’d just done.

So that was the inauspicious way Pebbles came to be part of our lives. I’d love to tell you that she was the perfect pet, loving, friendly and relaxed but it would be a lie. I do think she appreciated us for giving her a peaceful and dog free home but   she has never got over her nerves and she continues to be  neurotic, anti social and aloof  but we love her.

Happy birthday, Pebbles.

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Animal Magic


Cor! That’s a blast from the past. Anyone remember Animal Magic?

Here’s a link to  clip from Animal Magic. I Used to love this programme when I was a kid. Of course we had to watch it in black and white because we weren’t posh enough for a colour telly.

It’s been a funny old week with animals this week. Our old cat,  Pebbles, yup, the very Pebbles in the title of this blog, the very one I do regularly trip over in the dark as she’s jet black and sleeps in the oddest places, will be 20 in couple of months.  Now with only a few teeth left in hear head, severely rickety, totally deaf and almost blind she spends most of her time asleep on the landing. Every now and then when she’s sleeping really soundly I prod her as I go past to make sure she’s still alive.

She still seems to think she’s a dog and follows Boofuls round the house , keeping to heel far better than Mrs Woofy ever does. Boofuls told me last night that he now communicates with her via sign language since she’s as deaf as a post. She responds as well. Clever cat.

Mrs Woofy stayed for her usual Thursday night sleepover after doggie boot camp.  This week we were practising emergency stops. The scenario being that your dog was across a road and a bus was coming so you had to get it to lie down on command. That’d be the dog, not the bus, just so we’re all clear.  Why the hell would your dog be on the opposite side of the road to you anyway? if you’re on a road surely it should be on a lead, or is that just me? Anyway. I digress.  The dogs were made to sit at the far end of the room.  The handlers (that’d be me, I never in my life imagined the title ‘dog handler’ would ever be attached to me. I hate dogs) had to call their dogs to them and as they reached the halfway point we had to holler “STAY!!!”  The plan being that the dog did indeed stay. Guess what? She did!  She’ll be taking an apple for the teacher next week, class swot as she is.

For once I had some proper dog chow for her breakfast. I’d stolen a bag of her normal food from Gem and The Rev’s. Normally the poor dog has to eat cat food when she stays with me. Not only cat food but the cheapest, wateriest cat food we can find, stuff that has hardly any lumps of meat in it because Pebbles can’t eat lumps any more, she only has the gravy. Feeling very pleased with myself  for finally having some proper dog food in I poured the dried  food into the bowl and put it down for her. She looked at it, sniffed it, looked at me in disgust as if to say, ‘What’s this crap? ‘ and then sat by my side gazing up at me with her limpid brown eyes.   The message was obvious:’ Can I have some of that nice meaty, covered in delicious gravy cat food?’  She  obviously thinks that it’s her Friday morning treat. Oh well. I aim to please. Cat food it was. Gem and The Rev can have their purloined bag of dried dog food back.

Still on the subject of animals. Boofuls was giving it plenty in the snoring department the other night. I gave him the customary shove in the ribs with a delicately delivered, “SHUDDUP! You sound like a moose.” Rather than turn over as normal he responded sleepily with, “Yes, yes, it does sound like a moose, doesn’t it? A bit bigger though, I think.”

It’s hard to sleep with tears of laughter pouring down your face.