Thursday, September 09, 2010
The accused. So I bought this couch off eBay a while ago. I drove all the way to Tecoma to get this couch, and it was a hellish endeavour trying to fit it in my house and in the end we had to go through the French window because it wouldn't go through the front door, and even then only two-thirds of the damned thing would fit in my stupid-shaped living room.
And I begged my dad, who helped me with all this, to nail some chicken wire or something on the underside of the couch, because Graham had got into the habit of lying on his back like a mechanic under the old couch and scratching the shit out of it. I did not want this to happen to my new couch.
Of course it was one of those, "Oh, we can always do that later" jobbies. So imagine my rage when I discovered this:
He had ripped a hole in the underside of the couch and was lying in it, as if it were a hammock. He managed this even though I regularly clip his claws short. Since then he has pretty much ripped the entire length of the underside of the couch so that brown stuff hangs down to the floor. And – worse – whenever I am mad with him he goes and hides in there, blissfully unaware of this ironic move.
Tonight I could hear him scritching away in there and it made me incredibly angry. Poking at the couch with a broom handle while emitting Nutri-Grain screams failed to dislodge him, so I used his favourite bait: my hand. Then I dragged him out from under the couch and put. him. under. arrest.
Here are his mug shots:
The accused is currently incarcerated in The Cooler, aka the vestibule between the living room, bathroom and back door where his litter tray lives. I can hear him making hopeful chirruping sounds, which makes me realise I forgot to tell him he has the right to remain silent.
Dad is going to come around and staple a sheet of MDF to the bottom of the couch.
And I begged my dad, who helped me with all this, to nail some chicken wire or something on the underside of the couch, because Graham had got into the habit of lying on his back like a mechanic under the old couch and scratching the shit out of it. I did not want this to happen to my new couch.
Of course it was one of those, "Oh, we can always do that later" jobbies. So imagine my rage when I discovered this:
He had ripped a hole in the underside of the couch and was lying in it, as if it were a hammock. He managed this even though I regularly clip his claws short. Since then he has pretty much ripped the entire length of the underside of the couch so that brown stuff hangs down to the floor. And – worse – whenever I am mad with him he goes and hides in there, blissfully unaware of this ironic move.
Tonight I could hear him scritching away in there and it made me incredibly angry. Poking at the couch with a broom handle while emitting Nutri-Grain screams failed to dislodge him, so I used his favourite bait: my hand. Then I dragged him out from under the couch and put. him. under. arrest.
Here are his mug shots:
The accused is currently incarcerated in The Cooler, aka the vestibule between the living room, bathroom and back door where his litter tray lives. I can hear him making hopeful chirruping sounds, which makes me realise I forgot to tell him he has the right to remain silent.
Dad is going to come around and staple a sheet of MDF to the bottom of the couch.
