My aunt, resident on a farm, once took pity on a yard cat which had become ill, got the health thing sorted and brought it inside so it became a house cat, their first ever. It remained unnamed (people tend not to name cats on farms - they are there for one purpose and one purpose only) until it began to show a distressing tendency to want to rule the roost. It would wake them up in the morning by sitting on the end of their bed and yowling. If that wasn't successful at getting them up to feed it, it would stalk across the bed and begin batting their noses (fortunately with a closed paw). When they finally gave in and got up to feed it, it would hunt them up the passage, swiping at their heels with its claws.

It drew blood on me once when I was staying and earned a few seconds flight time towards its pilot's licence.

In my house, that would have got it a death sentence. In their house, it merely got the cat named "Slash". Died happy, very old, and very much in control ...

Diff'rent strokes for diff'rent folks, I guess!


The idiot also known as Capfka ...