Animal crackers
by Graham Smith

Freelance journalist Graham Smith, Managing Editor of Mediaworld PR Ltd, has written topical humour columns for five years. Now he’s sharing them with HoldTheFrontPage.

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What do you do if your rabbit bites the postman or the cat nips off with your neighbour’s mobile telephone?

My inclination would be to find a good recipe for rabbit pie, clip the moggy round the head with a blunt instrument and buy a dog, but as a nation of animal lovers we don’t do that. No, we pack the bunny off to a dietician, the cat to a psychiatrist and spend a small fortune on what we already knew in the first place, they’re barmy.

The tale of Caspar the Siamese cat is a strange one. The deranged feline loves Angora, Harris Tweed and cashmere. He has a fetish for bras and likes prowling off with men’s wallets and mobile telephones. At least he should be easy to spot, there aren’t many Siamese about wearing a cross your heart bra with a wallet sticking out and twirling a mobile in their paws.

The touched moggy was prescribed anti-depressants and a gourmet diet because the psychiatrist – and he must be as daft as the cat – says the crackpot cat gets an adrenaline rush when he has something between his teeth. He needed a tailor made course of interaction to stimulate him. Have they considered that plugging in him in to a standard electrical socket should work?

He needs five meals a day, preferably including lean meat and two veg, don’t we all? He should be stimulated around the house so he doesn’t go out causing trouble. Stimulated? If he nipped off with my wallet I’d stimulate him. A summary spaying without anaesthetic and with a size ten should work wonders.

The rampant rabbit attacks all manner of strangers. He bites them, claws them, kicks them and apparently with some force for he is built like a Blackpool donkey and would definitely be serving a more useful purpose topped off with pastry and on the menu of the nearest French restaurant. But no, he’s off to the shrink too. A drop of Vallium on his carrots, half a dozen sessions on the couch and some seriously disturbed animal psychologist reckons he’ll be as good as new. They’ll be rehabilitating loopy llamas next.

And if your dog is stressed out there is just the spot for him at a doggy hotel on Dartmoor. Owners are allowed, but only on a lead under proper supervision and any mess must be promptly cleaned up and deposited in the nearest receptacle.

One guest turned up and was rather put out because he couldn’t find the dog’s dining room.

The owner says that dogs are as important as humans but draws the line at nutcases. Really. To one man from Torquay seeking somewhere for his 95-year-old uncle who had “reached the Zimmer frame stage” he suggested: “What about Torquay cemetery?”

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