Comma's Funniest Home Videos, Pt. 3

Unlike 'Comma's Funniest Home Videos' Part 1 and Part 2, there's no Comma in this one on YouTube, but there is video, so we're getting closer. Let's just say this one's in memory of Comma. 2004-2005 :-)

Fence post

As I mentioned in my last post, Mandrake loved playing with Comma and would often sit on the fence looking in our window as though pleading for him to come out.


That said, it's funny that in most of the photos I have of the two of them together, they're studiously avoiding looking at each other.




Except in this one of course, where their gazes couldn't be locked any more firmly. :-)

More Mandrake

I thought I'd post a few of my favourite Mandrake pictures. I guess they don't need descriptions, except to say that the second image was a common sight for us when we lived in Richmond. Drake was forever looking into our living room from the fence, as though saying, "C'mon, let Comma out to play."

There's a bear up there...

My mum was in Queensland recently and she clipped this article for me from the Sunshine Coast newspaper.


Basically, that black splodge at the top of the tree is not a cat, but a bear. A bear that is fleeing the orange cat now standing guard at the foot of the tree. Yep, that little orange blob is a cat.

The article reads:

A black bear picked the wrong yard for a jaunt, running into a territorial tabby who ran the furry beast up a tree – twice.
Jack, a seven-kilogram orange and white cat, keeps a close vigil on his property, often chasing small animals, but his New Jersey owners and neighbours say his latest escapade was surprising.
“We used to joke, ‘Jack’s on duty,’ never knowing he’d go after a bear,” owner Donna Dickey said. Neighbour Suzanne Giovanetti first spotted Jack’s accomplishment after her husband saw a bear climb a tree on the edge of their property. Giovanetti realised the much larger animal was afraid of the hissing cat.

They breed ‘em tough in Jersey. I wonder if the cat was named after Jack Bauer?

Tigger and friends

While poking through my parents’ photo albums for old photos of Mishka, I came across some good ones of Tigger as well.

These first two were taken on Christmas morning 1976, when Tiggs was only 10 weeks old.



He’s reclining on Cath’s lap in the first one, and that’s me with him on our living room floor in the second. Can you dig those curtains?


This shot (that I’m sure Ros won’t mind me making available to a global audience), was taken in January 1984. As I've observed earlier, Tiggs was remarkably adept at surviving strangulation.


And here’s Tigger with friends. Gus the Seal, Platy the Platypus, Dino the Dinosaur and a teddy bear, rabbit, koala and furry slug whose names I forget. I seem to recall however that the furry slug was just a thin strip of wood covered in fluff, like one of those padded coat-hangers. Who needs Teletubbies, Thomas the Tank Engine or Tickle-Me-Elmo when you’ve got a child's imagination in your toy box?

Looking at these photos for the first time in years, I'm surprised to realise that Tigger’s face isn’t really that familiar to me. I’ll never forget the faces of Tanis or Comma, so I guess I must have been too young for Tiggs. The thing that does strike me is that little Hitler moustache that I never realised he had! How does one say this without giving the wrong impression, but I wonder how much input my Dad had into the cat's selection?

(Maybe I shouldn’t leave that last question hanging? Dad is not, nor has he ever been, a Nazi, and he loathes Hitler as much as the next person, but he is a student of that period and has such an inordinately large collection of books on the man (including ‘Hitler’s Accountant’) that people have been known to wonder.)

Mishka: an introduction

Mishka came into our lives in mid-1991 after Tiggs the Venerable shuffled off this mortal coil, but hers was a short and unhappy stay. Mum took me down to the Greensborough Cat Protection Society one day where I had the honour of selecting the new cat. Based on looks alone, Mishka would’ve been an easy choice. Smokey grey with silver paws, she was an absolutely stunning cat. Tragically, her early life must have been a cruel and terrible one, as she appeared to live in a constant state of terror.

We gave her a good home, and tried to undo the damage that had so obviously been done, but she only seemed to get worse. Even inside she was constantly on alert, and when she did venture into the outside world, falling leaves would send her bolting for cover. We eventually took her to a vet who told us she was neurotic and beyond help, so the difficult decision was eventually made.

Unfortunately we didn’t get many photos of Mishka. This one was taken during a rare moment of peace while she sat cleaning herself on my parents’ bed.


This was the more familiar sight, and that manic look in her eyes as she struggled to get out of your arms was sadly all too common.