Tag Archives: pets

Apology from kulula

Last week I wrote about our rather traumatic journey to the city of gold, thanks to kulula (once again) delaying then cancelling our flight. A few days later I received an apology from the airline and a discount on our next flights.

Whilst I appreciate the effort and will probably use the discount (I need a surf every six weeks or I’ll go crazy), they failed to answer the bigger questions of why these “technical problems” happen so often. This is not an isolated incident and it’s worrying enough that I’ll avoid flying kulula where possible.

Anyway, Boo seems to have recovered very well and is loving life in Joburg. She’s never experienced carpeted rooms or underfloor heating before. It’s rather amusing to watch her roll around on it.

No flying, only petting.

Pet Project Thursday – Boo

Like most white girls from the suburbs, I love animals. I even volunteered at the SPCA for a year. I grew up with a golden retriever named Prince – The Dog That Ate Vaseline Intensive Care Cream – who brought hours of joy and laughter to my family.

And now the husband and I have Boo, a black cat with white socks and velveteen fur. We didn’t choose her, she just moved in one day and never left.

She has a million different names bestowed upon her, mostly by Alistair – Fatness, Konvunt, Ikran (yes, after the creature in Avatar), Boo Velvet, etc. I have tried to put her on a bit of a diet, but Alistair flouts this all the time. She kept getting very ill until we put her on Hill’s Science Prescription food. She likes to drink out of the water glass beside my bed. She is possibly the most adored animal in the country. Well, one of them.

And that brings me to a blog feature for people who love their pets so much that they also think their quirky behaviour is a sign of genius – Pet Project Thursday.

Every Thursday I’ll profile a different dog, cat, horse, rabbit, bird, etc. that has turned a rational human being into someone with scratched furniture, a garden of landmines and a hair-covered bed. Email me (amandasevasti@gmail.com) a picture or two of your most adored animal and the info set out below. If you have more than one creature, feel free to send more profiles.

If the humans were smaller, I'd eat them.

Name(s): Boo, Ikran, Konvunt
Species / breed / description: Cat, Burmese X, black with white chest and paws
Odd behaviour: Drinking from the human’s water glass, opening cupboards while the humans sleep
Signs of intelligence: Sitting on the human’s suitcase to stop them going away
Mental block: Cannot open the cat flap
Toy or object of choice: String and a cardboard beer box
Favourite pastimes: Sleeping, eating, staring into space, kneading the humans

Mini Bio: My first family emigrated and left me with a decent human who travelled a lot. We moved into an adequate apartment block but the flat next door had infinitely preferable lodgings. After much scratching and crying at the windows, the humans there let me move in. It’s comfortable, clean and the food is of a high standard. I am rather fond of them both, although the male makes odd noises sometimes.

The dog that ate Vaseline Intensive Care Cream

I wrote this a year ago on my old blog. I think it’s worth sharing again in the lead up to a new blog feature I’ll be introducing...

When my best friend and I were 13, we dreamed of sharing a big house with a menagerie of mutts. Toy poms and huskies for her, golden retrievers and ridgebacks for me.

Last night we watched Marley & Me … Two of the most unsentimental 27 year-old women on the planet sniffling away in the cinema, our hearts aching for the dogs we’ve loved.

I desperately scratched in my bag for the one tissue I had. I held it up and carefully tore it in half, handing the other piece to Leanne. We looked at each other and laughed at ourselves through snotty tears. Leanne said to me afterwards, “The movie must’ve been sadder for you. Marley looks like Prince.”

Prince – the canine vacuum cleaner

Prince (aka The Dog Formerly Known As Slobber Chops) was my childhood dog, a gorgeous golden retriever with soft fur and the patience of a mother.

I was eight and my brother five when we brought Prince home. Dad grumbled about paying R300 for a dog, but Mom insisted retrievers were good with children. As always, my mother was right.

Why all kids (& moms) should have a dog like Prince:

  • We would sit on a dinner tray, hold Prince’s tail and throw a piece of food down the corridor for him to chase. Hours of fun during school holidays.
  • Being a retriever, Prince needed to carry something whenever you arrived home. My mother gave him her keys and he would drop these somewhere in the house. Hours of playing ‘find Mommy’s keys’ while mommy relaxed.
  • When we got a pool, we would watch Prince dive spread-eagled into the water to retrieve various items – including us. Hours of lifeguard duty.
  • Prince would eat anything (except veggies); we called him the vacuum cleaner. Vaseline Intensive Care Cream was one of his favourite foods, squeezed straight from the bottle into his mouth. Hours of hysterical childhood laughter.
  • When we got a dishwashing machine, it was just the right height for Prince to lick all the juicy tidbits off the plates. My mother called this “the pre-wash cycle”. Hours of dish-rinsing time saved.
  • Whenever we got home, Prince ran around wagging his tail with delirious delight. One day the garage door slammed and nicked the tip of his tail off. Prince carried on wagging obliviously… Hours of telling school friends how our house looked like a horror movie.
  • When I was a depressed teenager, I kept my sanity by going for long walks at night with Prince by my side. Hours of free therapy.
  • Before leaving for work, my mother often left a frozen chicken or margarine tub to defrost in the sink. Often, it disappeared. Eventually the garden service called to ask why there were frozen chickens and margarine tubs decomposing in our hydrangea bush. Hours of amusement when retelling this story.

Prince died just before my 21st birthday. That’s 13 years of unconditional love and memories that inform my childhood. How many people can you say that about?