I don't really talk about it here because of the urban KITTEH puke massive, but I'm not a big fan of cats. Some of them are nice but some of them are aloof and horrible.
My cat was suck a fucking DICK that if you touched his tummy he would scratch your face off. Once I came home and he had developed some kind of fear of my schoolbag and he ran up the curtains. I mean literally, to the top of the curtains and hung on the awful pleated bit (my mum thought was classy) for ages, screaming at us. We had to hide my bag behind the sofa so he would calm down.
And once, he was sitting on a top I was meant to be wearing out. I was only about 17 and had bought this top from New Look or something, it was probably a right slaggy number and I was looking so forward to wearing it. Anyway he sat his fat hairy arse right on it. He knew what he was doing, I could see it in his eyes. He was looking at me all smug and happy with himself trying to squander my night. Everytime I tried to get it he would bite me so I had to make some kind of double coat hanger contraption device to whisk it out from underneath him. Even when I was doing it though I was scared, like, proper scared, heart beating and everything.
Anyway, he ended up moving down the road to Daphne's house anyway. She was feeding him Whiskers food or something, or Sheba even, as opposed to our tesco's own brand. I think she needed him as a replacement for her other cat, Daniel, anyway, who in turn, I think, was a replacement for her son.. Daniel.
So it all worked out okay in the end.
But I hated that fucking wanker.
So in a nutshell I'm on Dodger's side.
