Shitting Kittens

It has been nearly 4 months since we lost our dear cat Wilson to cancer. Which means it has been just under 4 months since I told my mum that we did not want another cat for a while as there was sustainable grieving to be done. Which means it is 3 months since my mum chose to ignore me and produced the brilliantly named Chuy Lewis and the Woogs for Harry’s Birthday. It has to be said it is all working out splendidly.

Apart from the shitting. Man that cat can crap. In the litter tray and all, but the constant regularity is astounding. And guess who it is left up to do dispose of the cat crap. Yes.

Me.

The only other problems with Chuy is that he thinks I am his mum and takes any opportunity to try and feed from me. Which disturbs me no end. I cannot lay on the couch with him in the room. He is also prone to leaping out of the shadows and attacking. The house will be lovely and quiet until one of the kids screams out, having been under attack. Mr Woog and I giggle at this, until either of us come under fire.

Everywhere I am, there is Chuy. This is me right now trying to write this post! (viewer discretion advised – I have extreme non made up morning face on)

So despite the shitting and the fact he is taking a long time to wean himself, we love and adore Chuy. I hope he is still the same adorable little fellow after next week when the vet will take to his balls with a scalpel.

I cannot help thinking, “Gee he reminds me of something I have seen somewhere….” It struck me like a thunderbolt on the weekend when I put the kids in front of the DVD, How to Train Your Dragon.

Am I the only one who sees the resemblance? Except I think Chuy could take Toothless any day of the week.

We are well and content here. Except for one little problem. Well maybe two.

Ages ago we acquired a Guinea pig which, for reasons unknown, was christened XO. He was a normal sized G-pig but, like most folk in this house, enjoyed his tucker. So he grew and grew. Then he was sent out to my sister Mrs Ryan’s place for a bit of boom-chicky bow wow and produced a son and a daughter. Because we had to separate them to stop an inter-breeding cycle, the male heir came to live at WoogsWorld while the daughter.. well may she rest in peace.

To continue our tradition of naming our animals stupid names, the baby g-pig was called Fooey Fooey Moi Moi. And there was not questioning his parentage. Here he is with his dad a while back, when he was a baby.

Since that photo was taken, these two boys have grown somewhat. I think it has to do with the fact they are dealing with rejection after the arrival of Chuy. Now we are weighing in at 2kgs each, slightly heavier than the cat. Please note the 5c coin as a means to help work out how gigantic they have become.

Stop eating your feelings boys! Your health is too important…

I do not think they realise that in some countries such as Argentina, Guinea pig is considered part of a balanced diet. Prime rump anyone? The boys remind me of fluffy novelty slippers. You know the ones.

So I continue to be surrounded by males and am responsible to the general well being and upkeep for all. I am going to teach Mr Woog that if he tends to the kitty litter tray on occasion the world will not collapse. And if he continues to ignore it, he might find the contents of it in his manbag.

How many creatures do you take care of?