The Writing Life

Saturday, May 28, 2005


I've decided to run a contest. The winner will receive either a book I wrote about dogs, or one about cats, or a CD of my original music -- winner's choice.

All you have to do is write a true, humorous story about your cat or dog. It can be about a current pet, or one you've had in the past. Or one you've known at some point that isn't your pet. 250 word limit. Anyone can enter. Just hit the comment button at the bottom of this post and type in your entry (or copy from your WP program, cuz spelling and grammar count).

The contest will end on May 28 at midnight Pacific Standard Time.

Have fun!

Entries received so far:

At 7:51 PM, kate said...
My Kinky Pet Story
I had two cats, Max and Catherine, and a dog, Robin. Catherine was a pound cat but went into heat before I could get her spayed. She fell deeply in love with ...Robin. She totally ignored Max, the male cat and followed Robin, the female dog, everwhere. Robin loved having a normally hostile kitty to chew on and treated the ecstatic Catherine like a toy. I'll never forget the sight of that cat clinging with all four claws to the screen door calling to her one true love, the clueless goofy dog. When she went out of heat, she went back to ignoring the dog or hissing at her. Poor Robin was pretty confused for a while.

At 8:27 PM, Merry said...
My DH says Flint is not very smart. Flint likes to sleep with me. Not my husband, me. One night when Flint had been with us for about a year, he nosed DH to go outside in the middle of the night. DH stumbled to the door and opened it to let him out. Flint wasn't behind him. He came back to bed and there was Flint, next to me in DH's spot. That's not the funny part. The funny part is DH fell for it again the next night!

At 1:17 PM, etaknosnhoj said...
Tinkerbell is a very pretty cat. Tinkerbell has a red sparkly collar and delicate white paws. Tinkerbell walks with a charming wiggle.
Tinkerbell is also, apparently, a boy.
This was lost on me when, aged six, the vet told me my baby girl kitten had an extra feature. As said feature was about to be severely tampered with by the vet, I couldn't see that it made much difference. His name was shortened to Tinker, and he became more effeminate with every passing day.
Now he's an old man of seventeen, and he minces about the house like Hercule Poirot. A very handsome cat with a black coat, immaculate white bib, and white spats, he even has a little black bow tie smudge under his chin. But while Hercule Poirot was a dandy, he was also inescapably bright.
Not so poor Tinker.
This afternoon I watched him fall off the sofa. Recovering his dignity with remarkable speed, he sauntered out of the room. Several hours later, with a candle lit on the table beside my chair, he slunk back in, hoping it was forgotten, to help me watch TV. He's a very helpful cat. A helpful, old cat who just wanted to warm his tail over the candle...
The house now smells of burning cat tail. The funny part is that Tinker hasn't even realised it yet. I'm sure Hercule Poirot would know if his coat was on fire.

At 2:12 AM, Angie the Hippo said...
She gazed into his brown eyes. He had been her best friend all these years, always been there for her when she had felt sad and needed cheering up. Now, as always, he was offering his quiet support. Their faces were so close together, she could feel his breath on her mouth, and she sensed this was the perfect time to let him know how she felt. If only she could find the words to make him understand... And he stuck out his pink tounge and licked her across the face. Apparently she didn't have to find the words after all, her precious DOG knew that she loved him anyway.

At 6:49 AM, Laura said...
A Tribute to a Great Dog...

My husband's family had a dog (a Dandy Denmont--an otter dog, bred for chasing otters, etc...) named Harrance D. Beast, Attorney at Large. Harry Beast for short. He was the greatest dog I ever met. I went camping several times with Mr. Laura's family, to a place called Rye Patch Reservoir. My hubby and I (okay, we weren't married then) took the floating cushions from the canoe, and paddled around in the water with them. Harry Beast sat on the beach, waiting for the perfect opportunity to save...the flotation cushions. He'd rescue the cushion, then guard it from us when we'd try to retrieve it, often pulling it up the beach away from us, with a low growl. He could do this all afternoon. Harry also "saved" a bunch of fish my hubby and his brother caught. They'd left the fish on a chain, in the water. Harry pulled the chain out of the water. My husband lost count of how many times they had to put the fish BACK into the water. At one pitstop, my father-in-law told the dogs to load up. Heidi jumped right into the back of the truck. Harry took a running start, then sat a few feet away from the tailgate, giving "Dad" a look that plainly said, "Well, I gave it the good old college try. Pick me up."

We really miss Harry Beast. He passed away back in 1991.

At 7:13 AM, Tigger2 said...
Way back in the days of yore, when I was a little girl, my sister, brothers and I somehow talked my dad into letting us get a cat (well my sister and I wanted it, I don't think my brothers really cared one way or the other). Having never had a cat, we didn't know what to do. So we treated Misty like a dog. We bathed him every week, took him for walks, and took him camping with us. Every summer we went up to Klamath in Northern California. One day we decided to go on a picnic in Redwood State Park. It's a good thing we had the cat on a leash, because Misty decided to try his skills at tree climbing- on a 300 foot tall redwood! Fortunately the leash was just long enough that my dad was barely able to catch the end of it and pull the cat down. I don't think the fire department would have appreciated that "cat up a tree" call!


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