A Randy Johnson fastball should do the trick.
I don’t know why this is in the BBQ pit, is this a rant against the wisdom of feeding a wild animal and wondering why it comes back for more? I’d pit your cat for not being able to rid you of the problem 
That lazy asshole?
Heh. Just wanted to call a cat an asshole again. Okay. I’m done now.
It’s a rant against this one particular pigeon, upsetting the status quo. This flock, or kit, as it’s called, has lived on that church, and hung out in the driveway being fed the occasional treats, for who knows how many pigeon generations. I know the guy who lives next door, his family used to raise pigeons for food many years ago. He finally got sick of being the one to have to kill them, and ever since, he’s fed this wild flock. When I moved here I started feeding them too.
The cat is useless. I don’t know why, but his momma never taught him to catch birds, which is just as well with me. I would like it if he’d at least chase 'em. Just yesterday he was sleeping on the couch and I heard that “tap, tap, tap” of the pigeon, sticking her head in the door and grabbing some cat food. What did the cat do? Not a damn thing. Oh, well to be fair, at one point he heard the noise and lifted his head a little, then went back to sleep.
Damned useless asshole cat! (featherlou likes it when I say that)
I’d never want to call a kitty an asshole, but the cat sounds supremely spoilt and useless. Even our chubby tubby can scare the birds, in an emergency he can be relied upon to catch and kill butterflies
You’ve never wanted to call a cat an asshole? Even when they were playing nicely one second and tearing you up the next? Or when they plink at your windowscreens with their claws? Or when they start shredding something, then look right at you, then keep right on doing it until you come over and commence trying to swat them, as they scamper off? Or when they yowl at your bedroom door for a couple of hours? Or…
Or when you are playing a computer game and they hop up on the desk and stand in front of the moniter and then “obey” you by laying on your mouse hand.
I think a badminton raquet would be more appropriate.
Or when you find them starting to scrab at your shoelaces, or better still your toes peeking out at the end of your sandals, and you tell him to feck off, then he thinks its a game and does it more so you start prodding him with something so he rolls over and gets angry with you and starts clawing back?
Nope, he just looks back up with those big dopey eyes then rolls about a bit purring and all is forgiven
Buy an owl. Pigeons hate owls. It will get rid of your asshole cat for you, too. Of course you then have to deal with the owl shit and those weird-ass eyes following you wherever you go.
No, Lute.
Badminton racquets are for canaries and parakeets.
Pigeons require forged steel, titanium, or cast iron tennis racquets to boot their lazy asses out the door for good.
…Will someone explain what’s going on here…?
Sure, Kythereia, a sky rat has actually had two brain cells work simultaneously and has tracked the souce of his kittie goodies to a Garfield-wannabe’s food dish. Penis ensued.
Not in the face. Please, not in the face.
With the way things are going, don’t be too sure.
The Owl and the Pussycat went to see
a beautiful pea-brained oaf
“Look, this is funny”
“And he’s got plenty of money
to buy food. Hey, let’s call over the goat!”
I think when you catch it you should hold it in both hands with its face close to your mouth and SCREAM AS LOUD AS YOU CAN FOR A LONG AS YOU CAN before you throw it out the door.
That’ll teach the dumb cloaca.
Oh, I thought this thread had died.
That’s hilarious. Believe me, “sawring a pigeon in half with a stick,” seems mighty tempting. Three pigeons got in the house. Yes, that’s right THREE fucking pigeons got in.
That was pretty much the last straw. The door stays closed during pigeon hours.
Oh, but wait, it gets better. The other night, yes it was nighttime, so OK to have the door open for fresh air, I’m sitting on the couch, and my roommate is sitting in his TV watching seat when he screams “something just came in the house!”
Well my roommate is the world’s biggest wuss when it comes to wildlife. You should have seen it the time he saw a little black cricket in the house. Oh. My. God. He was shrieking and jumping up and down like there must have been a tarantula there. That’s what I was expecting, the way he was carrying on. Mind you, had it been a big black spider I wouldn’t have liked it much either. Not fond of big spiders in the house. But as soon as I saw what it was I was like, “aw, it’s just a cute little cricket.” Then I reached down to pick it up. I though my roommate was going to pee himself, jumping around the way he was. “Get rid of it, get it out, ahhhhh, don’t touch it!!! They carry pestilence, ahhhh!!!” Then, while I had it cupped in my hand and I was explaining that crickets are harmless and considered good luck finding one, it crawled through my fingers and started up my arm. Oh, man. My roommate actually lost his voice from the shear horror he was witnessing. He just stood there desperately pointing towards my arm, “guh… guh… guh… !!!” Since I am basically an evil person, I took it back in my hand and tried to show it to him. Close up. And then, my roommate dematerialized. It was the strangest thing. I hadn’t realized humans could teleport. But there he was, then ::bampf!:: he was gone. (I found him in his room later.)
So anyway, he starts screaming, “something just came in the house!” I figure it’s what, another cricket? “No, no, it was huge!” screams the roommate. Like what, a mouse? “No, no, like a rat or a cat! Huge! It went that way, I think in the bathroom!”
Ok, could possibly be a mouse. We do have them around here, despite all the cats in this neighborhood. I know that god-damned lazy ass cat of mine can’t be counted on to do anything, and of course he’s not around right now anyway.
So then I make a big, dramatic scene of reaching my arm into the bathroom and screaming, “oh God, oh God, it’s got me, oh God, get it off!!! Arrrrgh!”
Then I felt guilty, because there, cowering in the corner was the cutest little baby possum, baring its brave teensy fangs at me. Certainly not as big as a rat or a cat. Somewhere between mouse & rat, maybe.
Poor thing. I scooped him up in an old t-shirt and put him outside. As I was carrying it out, I offered to show my roommate how cute he was. ::Bampf:: again. (How does he do that?) Little possum went into “playing possum” mode, but revived and went his merry way after a few minutes.
But what the fuck is a possum doing walking in my front door and heading into the bathroom??? It wanted a drink? Fuck me! What is it about my front door that is so damn inviting to wildlife?
Maybe it’s the Marlin Perkins nude poster that you have on the kitchen wall.
the pigeon told him…
Mine!Mine!Mine!Mine!Mine!..Mine!Mine!..Mine!Mine!Mine!*
what’s that? Levdrakon’s house is an all-you can eat buffet?, good to know
*i have reason to believe pigeons have similar mental capacity as seagulls (read that as NONE)
Execept tennis racquets are for hitting balls, not birdies! 