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| "Hello Mrs Woog you sexy beast. Get that camera out of my face and come to bed...." |
The name is a hybrid of Chuy Bravo and Huey Lewis's Band.
Before Chuy, we had Wilson, which Harry named after his ball. If you look closely, you might just make out the fact that Chuy still wears Wilson's tag to honour his predecessor who was so cruelly taken from us 18 months ago by cancer, and to save me the $14 it would take to get a new one engraved.
Chuy is a no fuss cat. He does not care that his father was a complete fucker who pissed off after the party was over, leaving his mum to raise 5 hungry mouths to feed on her own.
He is very chilled out about most things, unless you pull a BBQ chicken out of the takeaway bag, and then he goes completely spare.
This week, I realised just how low-care Chuy was when I found the Pet-Barn catalogue. This is what asshole, pampered cats can now look forward to getting for their birthday or Christmas, or both combined if the days fall on the same date. Like Chuy.
It was exactly like the old Babies Galore Catalogues I used to get. Same colours, font, design and really, the same language.
Similar prices.
And I will not even start on the car-seat options. I just will not. And another thing.
A DOG DOES NOT CARE IF IT IS FASHIONABLE!
It just wants something to eat, a leg to make love to and some other dog's butts to sniff around on occasion.
If you have a pet, love it. Feed it and spend time with it. Look after it with all your capabilities. But please, do not make it look like an asshole. Or buy it stupid stuff that you will just end up putting out for council cleanup.
Bowl. Collar. Maybe a brush. Love.*
*love includes taking it to the vet and worming/fleaing stuff. The expensive stuff.
