cat behavior – Page 34 – Pain In The Bud

Australia Is Offering $10 Per Cat/Kitten Scalp, And Wants To Cull 2 Million Kitties By 2020

Australia sucks.

Dear Buddy,

I saw these horrible stories on Mama’s computer:

Cash for Cats: Queensland’s Bounty on Ferals
Why Australia Has Declared War on Feral Felines
You Can Legit Be A Feral Bounty Hunter, Australia Needs You

What do you think of them? I can’t believe it. I think they’re awful and I’m scared. I have a good home, but what if my mama died or something and no other people came to help me and I was left outside? Would this happen to me?

Headbump,

Stasi from ‘Stralia.

Dear Stasi,

This is from the third link you sent me:

“…good news, folks! You can legit be a bounty hunter in Australia. Sort of. Now before you get excited over traveling around Australia, hunting down outlaws, and slamming down bounty posters onto a sheriff’s desk in demand of payment, people are off-limits if you decide to be a bounty hunter in Australia.

No, what you’ll be hunting are – wait for it – cats. Feral cats to be specific.

The Banana Shire Council up in Queensland is offering bounties on the presentation of feral cat scalps and are willing to pay you $10 per scalp.”

Oh, what brave hunters, stalking the outback with bolt-action rifles to combat the plague of 10-pound kitties! Well, I’ll bet they’re as heroic as this guy:

fatguylion — *It’s not hunting when there’s zero chance of failure and the animal is so accustomed to humans, it doesn’t even realize you’re trying to kill it.*

So brave!

Don’t worry, Stasi. Buddy will give these Australians a piece of his mind. And if those savages don’t stop, you can come live with Buddy in New York.

His Grace, Buddy the King
Dated August the 14th, 5 A.B. (Anno Buddy)

To the Foul, Ignoble Degenerates of Australia,

After enquiring about your country, having never heard of it before receiving this most unfortunate news, we have been reliably informed that “Australia” is a former penal colony for English, Irish, Scottish and Welsh riff-raff who were banished from their home countries.

Some 160,000 criminals were forcibly transported to your abominable hovel of a “country,” where the assorted scoundrels, reprobates and rapscallions engineered a vulgar approximation of civilization. Fueled by alcohol, you copulated and produced more pissants. Generations of them, which brings us to you.

Australians — The proud history of Australia.

It comes as no surprise, then, to receive news that misguided leaders and anti-cat activists are pushing for a culling of your superiors, adult and kitten alike. You are offering between $5 and $10 “bounty” per kitten or cat “scalp.”

What kind of barbarians would do such a thing?

We understand there are two primary reasons for this: Our collective impact on local species, and Greg, best known to humans as the Bane of Birds, the vicious white cat who snacked on an entire bird sanctuary.

Look, Greg is a dick. We freely admit that.

We told him those birds were in a sanctuary. We told him not to eat the birds. We told him to stop messing with humans. We even told him to stop hogging the Temptations.

Greg didn’t listen, and now Greg’s dead. At your hands.

We offer the opportunity for a cease fire. You got Greg. There’s no reason for you to continue hunting us with rifles and arrows like the wimps you are, terrified of getting scratched by creatures that weigh 1/20 your weight even if we are 10 times your superior.

We control rodent populations. We are furry and we like to cuddle. We are like warm, purring pillows of love and cuteness. What more could you want?

And so we extend this olive branch in the sincere hope that you take it. Recall your “hunters” or face our wrath!

Signed,
His Grace, Buddy the King
First of His Name, Sole Sovereign of the Fields of Turkey, Ruler of New York, Protector of the Apartmental Realm, the Most Handsome, Totally Not Scared of Anything

budhanging2 — Run in terror at the sight of my claws, Australians!

This Is Why You Shouldn’t Mess With Tigers

Surely cats must have a sense of humor.

Gather round, kids, and listen to another tale of how cats always win.

My cousin has been married to her husband, Rob, for more than 25 years, and on one of their early dates he took her to the Bronx Zoo.

These were the days before the famously large tiger enclosure was remodeled into Tiger Mountain. Nowadays a series of huge fiberglass panels separates the tigers from the visitors, meaning there’s no open air between them.

You can probably thank Rob for that.

Back then only a reinforced fence separated the Earth’s biggest cats from people who’d come to gawk at them, and Rob decided he’d get my cousin to laugh by goofing off in front of a tiger.

He started off making a few faces, and the other visitors — kids, their parents, other couples looking at the tiger — found it funny. (At least according to Rob they did.)

Encouraged, Rob stepped up his act, dancing and waving until one tiger in particular took interest.

“What are you going to do, tiger?” he taunted. “That’s right! Nothing! You can’t do anything!”

The tiger roared, and Rob roared back. The huge cat was clearly not amused by a human dancing like a clown, making stupid faces and taunting it with an insulting approximation of a roar.

So the tiger turned around.

“That’s right!” Rob said, declaring premature victory. “Walk away! You can’t do nothin’!”

Oh, but the tiger could.

The annoyed cat raised its tail, backed up a stride and let loose a projectile — “a wad” is how Rob described it — of thick, gooey urine, hitting Rob square in the face.

The tiger had impeccable aim.

“It was enough to fill that,” Rob said, pointing to a large soda bottle. “It was all over me. It was in my mouth!”

Rob staggered back and lost his footing, taking one of the young bystanders with him as he fell. The angry mother stared daggers at him as she yanked her kid away, realizing with horror that he’d suffered collateral damage from the gooey salvo.

As for the tiger, it chuffed and, having proved its point, sauntered away.

Miraculously, my cousin agreed to continue dating Rob. Not that she found the episode flattering.

“That should have been the big warning sign,” she joked.

Today they have two adult daughters. As for Rob, he’s an executive at one of the country’s largest telecommunications companies, but says he has no illusions about his level of maturity.

“The way I was back then is the way I am now,” he told me. “I’m still an idiot.”

He may be an idiot, but he’s not going to mess with any more tigers.

Buddy laughing — . “lol dude I’m chuffed.”:/..

Meet My Cousin. He’s A Dog.

Yes, he’s a dog. Every family has its black sheep…or brown chihuahuas.

This is my cousin, Cosmo.

As you can see, he’s a dog. Specifically some sort of chihuahua-terrier bastard mix. I try not to hold it against him, but he’s not so smart.

Tug of war: A simple game for a simple animal.

Here’s an interesting fact: Did you know dogs think they’re territorial like us cats? In their very small brains they think “I’ve got my own territory to defend! I know! I’ll be very loud and tell any potential intruders I’m standing right here just waiting for an ass kicking! Bark bark!”

Ridiculous!

Intruders in kitty territory don’t even know they’re being watched. They think the coast is clear and they drop their guard, oblivious to the ninja cat already sailing through the air, razor claws extended, ready to dispense a little feline-style justice!

Cosmo is visiting New York with his dad, Brother of Big Buddy. BoBB is a pretty cool guy. He understands who runs things around here and he pays tribute to me by rubbing my head.

Cosmo himself is easy to bully. All I have to do is flash my terrifying fangs and show off my huge muscles, and he whimpers and runs away. Then I eat all the snacks.

Still, Cosmo’s not bad. For a dog.

Buddy the Cat! — As you can see, my fur is much more luxurious than a dog’s bristly coat.

Downton Buddy!

Buddy is Lord Grantham and I am Mr. Carson.

If you’re a regular reader of Pain In The Bud you know that Buddy is — how shall we put this delicately? — a complete brat.

Born to a well-loved momma cat and adopted as a kitten, the Budster has known nothing but indoor warmth, comfort and a doting Big Buddy to see to his every need.

Yet I’ve heard it said that even rescue cats, saved from miserable circumstances in hoarders’ homes or brought in from the freezing cold, have an instinctual ability to put their humans in their place.

Grateful? Yes. But to a cat it simply means the natural order has been restored with a human who realizes kitty is a king or queen.

Reader Anna Keller confirms this: She rescued her cat, Frank, from the mean streets of LA, but it didn’t take long for Frank to adjust to his new pampered reality, relegating Anna to “the servants’ quarters of ~~Anna’s~~ Frank’s house.”

Frank, Earl of Los Angeles — Frank lounging in his parlor.

That got us thinking: What if every cat had access to a servant bell system a la Downton Abbey?

In order to be able to communicate efficiently with the domestic staff, internal bell systems became very popular when they were invented in 1744. Prior to this invention, servants would have to wait outside their employer’s rooms or linger unassumingly in the background of the family quarters, waiting for orders. This was considered intrusive and inefficient. The innovative bell systems therefore increased privacy and meant that servants could remain in their quarters whilst waiting to be summoned. This new facility became a standard in this era.

Imagine the labels: “Buddy’s Bedroom,” “Buddy’s Dining Nook,” “Nap Room,” “Food Can Room,” “Human Litterbox Room” and so on.

Even worse, imagine the incessant ringing!

RING! “I can see the bottom of my bowl! Get up here and fill it!” RING! “You missed a microscopic piece of turd when you scooped my box, how am I supposed to poop here?” RING! “What did we say about feeding me tuna after I’ve had salmon? No consecutive fish dishes!” RING! “I would like to be scratched behind the ears, servant!”

“Will that be all, My Lord?”

“Yes, Carson. You may retire to the servants’ quarters…”

RING! “You closed the door. We do not tolerate closed doors in this house! Oh, and Carson? Have Mrs. Patmore send up a late night snack, I’m feeling peckish.”

Hell, Buddy would use the bell even while I’m sleeping.

RING! “You just rolled over onto your back and disturbed my sleep. Do not forget you are my mattress!” RING! “Stop snoring!” RING! “Wake up and feed me breakfast!”

Note to self: Do not ever, ever allow Buddy to watch Downton Abbey, lest dangerous ideas form in his little head.

90A7EDCA-30E0-4D76-90A5-D5D9FFD5A28F — Lord Buddy, 4th Duke of Turkey.

Why We Should Lie To Our Cats

Debunking the myth that cats need to roam freely outdoors to be happy.

Sometimes you’ve gotta fib to protect the ones you love, which is how I found myself lying to Buddy the first time he wanted to go outside and ~~ineptly chase~~ hunt birds.

“I’m sorry, Bud, I can’t let you do that,” I said, doing my best to sound serious and authoritative.

“Why not?” Buddy asked, pawing at the door impatiently.

“Because it isn’t safe.”

Buddy was exasperated. “I’m 10 months old! I can take care of myself!”

“You don’t understand. It’s not for your protection.”

I lowered my voice conspiratorially and nodded toward the birds outside. “It’s for them. Mice too. Squirrels. Even coyotes.”

Comprehension dawned on the little guy’s face.

“To protect them from me?”

“Precisely,” I said gravely. “It wouldn’t be fair, unleashing a beast of your size and power on those poor unsuspecting creatures. It’d be like that scene in Jurassic Park when they lowered a cow into the velociraptor cage.”

Buddy nodded.

“That makes sense.” He eased onto his hind legs and raised his front left paw, flexing. “I mean, I am really ripped. These guns must be intimidating.”

“They most certainly are,” I agreed. “So ripped! So you can understand why I can’t let you out.”

“Illegal, you say? Like actually illegal?”

“A $500 fine if you even step out the front door.”

“Damn.”

After that he didn’t ask to go outside anymore and was satisfied with telling people that the local Council of Dangerous and Awesome Animals had specifically forbidden Buddy the Beast from stalking the neighborhood unless chaperoned by a human with his huge muscles restrained in a harness.

Ed Sheeran’s cat: A preventable tragedy

I recalled this totally accurate and real conversation after reading news that musician Ed Sheeran’s cat, Graham, has died. I clicked on the story expecting to read about a loyal cat who’d stuck with Sheeran over the better part of two decades before succumbing to old age.

That’s not how Graham died.

Sheeran’s five-year-old cat had his life cut short when he was hit by a car on July 31.

Graham, Ed Sheeran's cat — Graham, Ed Sheeran’s cat, as a kitten. He’s pictured sitting on a Les Paul guitar.

Allowing cats to roam free is the norm in the UK, even in busy neighborhoods. Cats are killed in traffic — or meet other unfortunate ends — regularly. Even a rampage by an alleged serial murderer of cats, who was said to kill more than 300, didn’t dissuade them from keeping their cats safely indoors, nor did the subsequent (pardon) copy-cats.

The usual excuses paint cats as one step removed from wild animals, creatures who range several miles in their “natural” states as outdoor kitties.

The problem is, that’s not true.

Domestic cats don’t belong in the wild

Cats are domesticated animals. They’ve evolved over 10,000 years from African and Eurasian wildcats, to the human-friendly mousers who protected grain stores, and finally to the companion animals we all know and love.

They are second only to dogs, who were domesticated 30,000 years ago, as animals who are uniquely attuned to human presence, able to read our expressions, detect our moods from our pheromones and parse the subtleties in our vocalizations.

Cats belong with humans. They have no “natural habitat.” As domesticates who are genetically distinct from their wildcat ancestors, there’s no place in nature for them.

In other words, cats belong in human homes, benefiting from human companionship, protection and care.

They’re not as fast, agile or nimble as their wild cousins, and while some can adjust to rough living, most don’t: The lifespan of a feral cat is a pitiful two to five years compared to the 16 years or so an average, well-cared-for indoor cat can live. For feral cats eking out an existence on their own, as opposed to living in a colony, the average lifespan is less than two years.

108559_MAIN._AC_SL1500_V1480541411_ — Window perches allow cats prime views of the outdoors without exposing them to danger.

It’s our responsibility to protect our cats

The point is that we’re not doing cats any favors by letting them roam outdoors unsupervised. In addition to being ill-equipped to deal with nature and predators, they’re also defenseless against maladjusted and hostile humans who do things like intentionally poison flower beds. They’re particularly vulnerable to vehicle traffic. They’re easy meals for large birds of prey, wild canids and other mid-sized animals.

So what’s the solution? Simple: Be a good caretaker.

An indoor life shouldn’t be boring. It’s our responsibility as caretakers to provide our cats with attention, affection, toys and stimulation.

Contrary to popular misconceptions, cats aren’t antisocial animals. They want to play, to interact with people, to simulate hunts with wand toys and laser pointers. They feel safe snoozing and purring in human laps. That’s not just the opinion of cat lovers, it’s backed up by solid research showing cats value human companionship.

A happy indoor life

If we give them the attention we’re supposed to, there’s no reason why our cats should be bored indoors. And an indoor life doesn’t have to be completely devoid of nature. That’s why there are customized cat perches, catios and harnesses, allowing domestic cats to watch and enjoy the outdoors without exposing them to the many dangers outside.

The Grahams of the world shouldn’t die early because of our misguided belief that cats need to roam like tigers. Keep your buddy indoors, give him the attention he needs, and he’ll have a long and happy life.