From the Ashers - Stories from us, The Ashers
Home
BLOG
    Latest Blogs
    Beautiful Things
    Creativity
    Kids
    Family
    Food
    Hitwave Alison
    Life
    Music
    Weekends
    Writing
MEMBERS
    SECRET ASHER STORIES
    BECOME A MEMBER
    Login
    My Account
About Me
Contact Alison
From the Ashers - Stories from us, The Ashers
  • Home
  • BLOG
    • Latest Blogs
    • Beautiful Things
    • Creativity
    • Kids
    • Family
    • Food
    • Hitwave Alison
    • Life
    • Music
    • Weekends
    • Writing
  • MEMBERS
    • SECRET ASHER STORIES
    • BECOME A MEMBER
    • Login
    • My Account
  • About Me
  • Contact Alison
Tag:
cat
Family•Life

Life 9347857497987

30/10/2020 by Alison Asher 2 Comments

The Shitcat isn’t dead (again).

On Tuesday morning there was quite the commotion at Asher HQ, as the MASSIVE horsedog who is agisted next door and who is, how shall we say it, not a cat person, pulled his owner over and dragged her over our driveway like cheese on a grater, to chase Woofa the Shitcat. (Who was most likely lying supine and flashing her derrière at him.) The owner came running at me, screaming, “My dog just killed your cat.”

So I calmed down the sobbing jockey whilst I looked for a trail of blood, tiny cat bones and general destruction in the direction of #deadcat. None. And no deadcat to be seen.

Except said cat was nowhere to be found. Strange behaviour for a dead cat indeed.

#wetcat Check out the disdain.. like it’s my fault

As if in response to the mayhem and maiming, the heavens opened up, and we had what Queenslanders call “a drop of rain”. The type of rain that makes you glad you are wearing a bra. And waterproof mascara. And you have sandbags in your garage that your Mum made you get from council once, when they were going for free (I case of floods. No we don’t live near a river. But: free.)

I searched and searched through the deluge for #deadcat for at least two minutes, before deciding the lack of blood spatter meant she was without harm or without a trace (I’ve watched the shows, I know how this stuff rolls) and it was time to do what all good cat owners do: wait, call “pusspusspuss” in that high pitched voice that cats universally love loathe, wait, shake the dry food pellets, wait.

By and by, the thing that all cat owners know about happened: #deadcat reappeared. Bedraggled and a bit skittish, but decidedly #alivecat. No sign of blood or eviscerated entrails or shards of bones chewed by the jaws of megalodog. Nothing.

She stared at me for a beat, did one cross sounding miaow, demanded food and then started licking her puckered area. Definitely not dead today.

The overall casualty count was: two skinned knees (The Meg owner), one wet t-shirt that was winning NO competitions this day (cat owner), one heart on the verge of infarction (cat owner).

I know one day #alivecat will be #deadcat, but my goodness it’s hard to believe that supershitcat will ever meet her maker. And she sure knows how to burst my corpuscles. We do love you Woofa, but can you hold off on the near death action for awhile?

The vet said ‘cats like this’ often live into their twenties. Pass me the smelling salts.

Share:
Life

An Unfortunate Event

29/05/2014 by Alison Asher 2 Comments

We have a cat.

It looks like this:

Woofa

Hairy.

Very hairy.

Sometimes this cat does poo.

Mostly the poo ends up in the kitty litter, and all is right in the world.

Once upon a time, the poo didn’t end up in the kitty litter, but remained in the hairy hair for quite some time before my nostrils were assailed by a fecund faecal odour not befitting this establishment.  There was a kitty-dag.  This was bad, but the poo was quite firm and could be easily removed with toilet paper, a little water and much gagging.

Once upon a THIS time, the poo didn’t end up in the kitty litter.  Neither was it firm.  It was quite pliable.  And securely affixed to the hairy hair.  Entwined in fact.  Almost poo-plaited in.  I believe surfers have a term for a similar phenomenon, when they have been surfing for hours and their arse-hairs get a little matted and then they desire deft defecation.  I have it on reasonable authority that this is known as a “netty”.  (Don’t.Even.Ask how I know this.)  So Woofa Butterball Popsicle Asher had a feline fur-netty, and was showing no signs of removing it of her own accord.

The other three sooks in this house were gasping and gagging and basically carrying on.

So, as with all things daring and dangerous and disgusting, it fell to the woman.

I demanded gloves, scissors and toilet paper STAT.  I also demanded a camera, because: blog.

I donned the gloves, held the cat prostrate, and performed the nettyectomy.

A little bit of vomit might have scalded my throat as I swabbed the area clean.

 

And that is that story of why an unfortunate event has led to me imbibe my second Stella on a school night.

Photo on 28-05-2014 at 9.24 pm

For your viewing pleasure: a blurry pic of the netty. It was difficult to get a clear shot due to the retching.

 

You might not believe me, but I SHIT YOU NOT: less than five minutes after I cut that poo-pouch off, the cat was LICKING HER BUM HAIR.  I know not why.   It was cut it off.  And if she likes licking faecal-fur, why did she wait?  Why was she licking it at all?  What is wrong with nature-y things?  Excuse me now, whilst I go and eat a placenta I have in my freezer*.

 

*This is not true.  I do not have a placenta (although our midwife was strangely keen for us to keep them).  I didn’t have a crock-pot back then: opportunity missed.

 

…From The Ashers xx

Share:
Family

Cat’s Eye

09/04/2014 by Alison Asher 2 Comments

So we have a cat: Woofa Butterball Popsicle Asher.

(Not taken today)

(Not taken today)

We got her at a time when I maybe wasn’t going so well.

When you have a kid with a “thing” sometimes you can be a bit of a mental as you chisel away the entrenched stone of your heart that is made up of all the ridiculous notions of perfection you had, and sculpt yourself a new shape.  One that encompasses the reality of loving the kid you have.  I say “you”, but I mean “me”.  It was ME who was a bit of a mental.  I guess I was working my way through the stages of grief, but not of a loss of something tangible, but of a potential.  A potential life for our daughter that existed only in my imagination.

There was also the sense of loss in knowing that I would have no more children, for I couldn’t, once I knew that we both carried secret mutations on a precise spot on a particular chromosome that when coupled, would make a kid with a thing, one out of every four times.  Again, a loss of potential, a fleeting wisp of an idea of a baby that I allowed only to exist in my peripheral vision.

So when I saw that Ragdoll and her deep blue eyes- kind of like the eyes of a kid I know- I had to have her, even though it wasn’t the best time for me to be looking after another life.

And if you could see that kid with a thing cuddling that cat, pushing it in a pram or touching noses together, you’d probably agree it was a good choice.  Even if you think cats are a bit shit.

Her name was Popsicle when we got her, but we wanted to name her ourselves.  I wanted to call her Johnno or Chairman Miaow.  Liam wanted to call her Fooey Fooey Meow Meow, and Nath didn’t give a toss ‘cos he hates cats.  But Coco wanted to call her Woofa, so of course that is what she was named.

Woofa is the laziest cat in the known world, and usually comes in around 5pm on a big day.  Today she didn’t.  And then tonight she didn’t and then late this evening she didn’t.  And even though I profess not to like that cat, I started to feel sick at the thought of what we might be scraping from David Low Way tomorrow before the kids got up.  I called her one more time tonight before bed, even doing the silly “pusspusspussPUSS” thing that no self respecting cat has ever heeded.

And she came.  She came all wobbly and miaaaoww-ing and strange.  I couldn’t tell immediately what was wrong although I knew it was something.

It’s her eye.  The entire thing is full of blood, so much so that at first when I held my breath and prised the lids open I thought there was no eye, just a dead red socket of eyelessness.  I’ve looked three times and taken a photo and sent it to the vet, and I’m still not convinced that what I’m seeing is her eye.  Her azure is crimson.  I want to quote Lady Macbeth and say “The multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the blue (sic) one red”.  Or something.  A bit melodramatic, but it’s her eye.  Or not an eye.  I can’t decide and I can’t sleep yet until I look one more time and be sure that someone hasn’t just done a King Lear and an “Out vile jelly” to it, like I first thought.

Seems I’ve read too much Shakespeare and Stephen King (the World’s two greatest storytellers, by the way) for sleep to come easily tonight. (But of course the bloody cat is asleep next to me on the Time Capsule, dreaming the dreams of the innocent.)

I guess you don’t see with your eyes when you dream.

 

Do you want to see the eye photo? (You know you do)

What are you, lovely readers, Team Dog or Pussy Lover?

 

…From The Ashers xxx

Share:
Family

Ahem

13/09/2013 by Alison Asher No Comments

Ah, AHEM, it’s my birthday this month too you know.  It came and went without even a purr this year.  That was noted, my lovely family, oh yes, it was noted.  I am not happy.  Not that this is news.  I am pretty much always at least marginally pissed off.  I don’t like, well, anything much really.

The four things I do like:

  • Peeing right on the edge of the path, so when I dig it in, a bit of soil goes on to that path- it gives the Woman something to sweep up.
  • Rubbing against the Woman’s legs when she is wearing black pants- the fluffy bits that stay on her leg are very pretty.  I try to make patterns.
  • Scratching on the bedroom doors at night until I hear the Boy and the Girl stir a little- such a satisfying noise (Both the scratching and the waking.  Zing.)
  • Staying awake most of the night and making things mysteriously fall from spots on high, then sleeping on the Man’s pillow most of the day.

That’s about it I think.

The Man and the Woman really don’t like me much, and that’s fine, I don’t like them either, but they are warm.  So I usually try to sleep on either one’s legs most nights.  I used to sleep on the Man’s chest, until he launched me right into the full-length mirror one night.  I got just one glimpse of my own startled eyes before I whacked into it.  So I’m more cautious these days.  More stealthy too.  It’s good for my instincts, because God knows I’m bloody hopeless at catching wildlife.  So far all I’ve managed are a few geckos and cockroaches.  I can take or leave the geckos, stupid clickity-slimy things they are, but the ‘roaches are bloody lovely.  All crunchy on the outside, with a gooey centre.  I can’t come at the wings though, so I leave them lying around for the Woman to clean up.  Reminds her of what a useful pet I am, in case she is getting ideas, if you get my meaning.

So, about the birthday celebration, or lack thereof.  I heard the Girl ask if she could get me something, and the Woman said no, I wouldn’t even know it was my birthday, I was “just” a cat.  The Girl secretly took me off into her room and gave me a tea-party anyway.  It was a bit shit really, no actual tea, or party, for that matter, but at least she didn’t dress me up in that ridiculous pink hat and make me sit in the doll’s pram. (I’m too big for that thing.)

I started my vengeance last night: knocked over an ornament and climbed back onto the bed every time the Man kicked me off. You should’ve seen me, I was relentless.

And this is just the beginning, dear friends, just the beginning….

 

Tonight: my bum and the kitchen bench have a meeting.

I’ll keep you updated.

You.Just.Wait.

You.Just.Wait.

Do you have an evil pet?

logo_heart_3.png

 

 

Share:

Recent Posts

  • Of Course 20/09/2021
  • Waiting to Exhale 17/09/2021
  • Hey Rick, Bit Weird 15/09/2021
  • Somedays We Bop 13/09/2021
  • In Love With Love 31/08/2021
  • Homage to Carla, Part 2 26/08/2021

Blog Roll

  • Woogsworld
  • Styling You

Recommended Links

  • Chicks Who Click
  • Quest Chiropractic Coaching

Recent Comments

  • Alison Asher on Hey Rick, Bit Weird: “I love that Paul. That smile! (And daring you.. she was always the most daring wasn’t she?)” Sep 16, 09:48
  • Alison Asher on Hey Rick, Bit Weird: “OH Tan, I didn’t know you had the boots! I’m so pleased as I never wanted them to go to…” Sep 16, 07:30
  • Tania on Hey Rick, Bit Weird: “Love it. I have those bloody cowboy boots in my wardrobe and they will never leave my side. Just loved…” Sep 15, 22:29
  • PB on Hey Rick, Bit Weird: “My memory shifts between the intensity of her eyes when she spoke to me…..controlling me ,enveloping me, daring me ….to…” Sep 15, 21:49
  • Alison Asher on Hey Rick, Bit Weird: “Oh Trace. I’m so sorry to hear that. One foot in front of the other, ‘eh? Do you have a…” Sep 15, 18:42
  • Tracy K-S on Hey Rick, Bit Weird: “Good reflection for me on what has been a tough few weeks. A new friend was diagnosed with cancer today…” Sep 15, 18:35

View Blog Categories

  • Beautiful Things
  • Chiropractic
  • Creativity
  • Family
  • Food
  • Hitwave Alison
  • Inspo stuff
  • Kids
  • Life
  • Music
  • Secret Asher Stories
  • Travel
  • Weekends
  • Writing

© 2020 Alison Asher | Privacy Policy