Your favorite, funny cat stories here

When I first got Charlie, the Wonder Cat, there was the usual adjustment period of getting to know each other, the boundaries of the house, the rules of play, etc. I never really knew what to expect him to do during those early days.

Charlie looks like he’s perpetually perplexed, walking around with what we call his “hoo-hoo eyes” - like he’s just been goosed. Frequently, he’ll charge into a room, then look up at the ceiling for a few seconds, then look at you with that “what the hell am I doing?” look on his face. It’s even funnier when you look up at the ceiling to see what he see’s (there’s never anything there) and when you look back at him, he’s looking at you like you’re the one who’s nuts.

Anyway, back in the beginning, I was working my current very early in the morning shift (4am) and, as such, was always pretty out of it during my morning Get-Ready-For-Work routine. On this particular morning, I was not only groggy, but also a little hung over, hanging on to the walls of the shower to keep from falling over. Standing there, with the water pouring down over my closed eyes and puffy face, head reeling, I suddenly sense that there’s somebody in the bathroom with me - very unsettling, since I lived alone at the time.

With that instantaneous flash of the shower scene from Psycho running through my mind, I spin and whip the shower curtain back. Nobody there. Hmmm, more disconcerted and now really dizzy from the activity.

I close the shower curtain and resume my shower activities, but still sense another presence. I begin to shampoo my hair, when something brushes my leg. I leap out of the shower, pulling down the shower curtain and rod with a mighty crash, certain that I’m only moments from a ghastly death.

There, in the shower, standing under the full spray, is Charlie with those hoo-hoo eyes looking at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving-mind. He then proceeds to walk around under the spray to get thoroughly drenched, which makes him look incredibly funny - all skinny, with long hair plastered down all around.

To this day, Charlie takes a shower with me every morning. He insists on being shampooed (with pet shampoo), and must be blow-dried afterwards. I’ve never had a cat before or since that liked water to the extent this one does. He plays in the sink, the tub, the toilet (eewww) - anywhere water is running/standing.

Cinnamon Toast was a very headstrong cat. When she wanted in, she really wanted in.

One day I was angry with her indoor behaviour and put her out. She was quite put out and was energetic in her attempts to get back in.

After my short nap, I woke up and heard her crying. It was coming from the chimney and she sounded pitiful.

I was horrified. I tried to reach up to her past the flue, but just couldn’t. From the sound of her cries, she was just beyond my reach. I frantically tried to readjust the flue without crushing her little body. In frustration, I got my head pretty far into the fireplace and a little ways up the chimney.

Cinnamon was standing at the very top of the chimney, looking down at me in confusion. The sound had done funny things in that chimney and made it sound like she was RIGHT THERE.

She climbed down off the roof and into a basket I held up for her with her usual dignity.

yes, cats + water = hilarity … at least, usually in hindsight.

when i was young we had a boat, and i had a cat. we’d spend weekends on said boat, and said cat would accompany us, rather than be left behind in the apartment. Twinkles (the cat) was fairly tolerant of all this, if perhaps not fully enthusiastic. she’d occasionally roam onto the bow where i’d be ensconced with a book whenever we were underway, although she didn’t appear to be thrilled by the wind speed on her ears. but anyway…

a rainstorm came up as we were crusing down the Potomac, so we pulled into the pier at a (now-defunct) amusement park. the pilings were pretty darn high there–don’t know what kind of boats they were expecting, unless the old Wilson Line cruisers stopped there. anyway, it was quite a stretch getting from the gunwhale of our boat to the planks on the pier. we got tied alongside, and my stepfather had climbed off to see to the lines. Twinkles must have decided the choppy ride entitled her to some land time. she climbed onto the gunwale and made a major leap for the pier. (remember the remark about choppy water…as in “makes boat bob up and down”?) the bad news was, she happened to be de-clawed. and while she didn’t miss outright, she only got her front legs onto the planks. so here’s this Siamese cat pendulum dangling from the edge of the pier, grabbing futilely for better purchase. no dice–gravity would have its way. i watched her inevitable slide, until she went kersplash into the river.

now, if you’re unfamiliar with various cat breeds, Siamese are often noted for their loud, sometimes raucous vocalizations. Twinkles proceeded to swim laps around our 25-foot boat, giving full vent to her feelings at the absolute top of her lungs. she really had stamina, too–two laps around the boat in a clockwise direction, while screaming, yielded no suitable means of climbing out… so she changed direction and proceeded to swim two MORE laps around the boat, now widdershins, STILL screaming full volume. plus i’m jumping around the deck, crying and yelling for my stepdad to jump in and get her. (i think my mother was in some corner quietly splitting a gut laughing.)

luckily all the noise and commotion brought other people over to look for the scene of the noisy homicide in progress. (did i mention just how ungodly a howling Siamese can sound when it’s truly perturbed? while Twinksie normally had a somewhat soprano voice, the depths of her displeasure dropped her more into the basso profundo range.) someone finally produced a crab net, and the flailing feline was dipped out of the drink. think she finally ceased airing her grievances while i was toweling her dry.

don’t remember if i ever did get off the boat onto the pier. everything else just sort of paled, in comparison.


My cat, whose name is actually “Kitty” has several silly mannerisims. My favorite being when she sits up against the wall with her legs and “arms” splayed out in front of her. It’s the funniest thing. I’ll try to post a pic sometime.

Her favorite thing in the world (other than her momma) is her Kitty Kitchen Treat Machine. We keep it in the guest bedroom so the dog can’t get to it, but if it’s quiet in the house, you can hear her spinning that wheel and crunching ALL THE TIME. In fact, if I ever let it run out of dry food (no, she has dry and wet food in the kitchen, too), she has a tantrum and I’ll find the Kitty Kitchen in four or five pieces when I go in there - no kidding. :eek:

She’s a beautiful little 10 year old tortiseshell (rescued when she was about four weeks old). The vet keeps asking me how she stays the perfect weight - I guess it’s all that spinning!!!:smiley:

Can we stand more on cats and water?

Our Shiloh was an energetic little kitten–when she followed us from room to room, she always ran and jumped when she got there. If we were in the kitchen, she’d run in and jump on the table; if we were in the living room, she’d run in and jump on the couch; if we were in the bathroom, she’d run in and jump on the toilet. The latter wasn’t so bad because we always keep the lid closed, unless the toilet is in direct use.

One day, I was in the bathroom, and Shiloh came running. Problem was, the toilet was in direct use–by me, who was (how do I put this politely in MPSIMS?) using it while standing.

You can guess what happened, and you’d be correct.

Poor Shiloh was splashing around, too small to get out on her own, so I reached in and hauled her out. Needless to say, after her involuntary swim in the used toilet, I made sure that she had an immediate bath in the sink.

She still runs into the bathroom and jumps on the toilet, but now if she sees me standing there, stops short of jumping. It’s actually kind of comical to watch her divert herself away while running at full-tilt, but she manages.

Cats and water always make for a winning combination.
When I was a kid, growing up on a lake in New Hampshire we had a Maine Coon cat, a great cat but somewhat lacking in feline graces. He did, however, have the predatory instincts of his species. Well it was Thanksgiving weekend and since the boating season was over we had pulled the boat out of the water and turned it over for the winter, being a rather manageable 16ft fiberglass outboard run-about. The boat was about 6ft above lake level, and the stern just hang over the edge of the bay. The weather had been cold and wet for the last few days, and it was still drizzling lightly. A friend of mine and I were down on the dock when we heard a commotion in the woods of to the side of the house, looking up we saw a chipmunk bolt out of the brush with the cat in close pursuit. They were both heading straight for the boat, the chipmunk intent on reaching the sanctuary of the stone wall beside the boat, the cat gaining steadily. Well the chipmunk just made it to the wall, and the cat, not being able to stop or turn in time, jumped up on the boat while still moving forward at a quite appreciable speed. At this point he discovered just how slippery wet fiberglass is. He landed about 6-8ft out in the bay. He hauled himself out and dragged himself up to the house, and spent much of the rest of the day in front of the fireplace. He actually seemed embarrassed by the whole incident. The look he gave us was enough to say “what are YOU looking at!”

This seems to have become a Cats vs. Water thread, so let’s continue on our merry way.

A liitle background. We had, at 1 time, 3 Siamese cats that lived and played well together for 20+ years. The house I grew up in was a “modified” ranch style, with a long hallway from the living room, bedrooms & closets on either side, ending in the bathroom - if you left the bathroom door open, you could see from the far-end wall of the living room into the bathtub looking straight down the hall. This made for the ideal race-track when the cats were hyper. They’d start out in the living room, race down the hall into the bathroom, bank off of the bathtub & race back into the living room to bank off of the couch - repeat as many times as it took to finally wear out.

One day, after Mom had been busy all day cleaning, she decided to take a hot soak in the tub, but left the door open to keep an eye on my toddler sister. Just for good measure, she decided to clean the toilet prior to getting into the tub, and left the lid & seat up when finished. She filled the tub with a nice, soapy bubble bath and climbed in.

Hyper cats begin racing the hallway, banking off the tub & back again. Over & over. Until… Casper missed the bank, landed splat into the tub with all four of his legs spread out like a flying X. He & Mom start scrambling to get him out of the soapy water, at which point he slithers out of her grasp and into the toilet - lather & rinse. He than scrabbles out of the tub & begins to run down the hall.

Not sure what she was thinking, but Mom was worried he’d get the house all wet, so she jumps out of the tub and chases him with a towel, getting the house MUCH more wet than he would have, since she didn’t bother getting a towel for herself, first.

Casper wouldn’t set foot in the bathroom for years after that.

Cats and water, cats and water…

Years back, my niece acquired a kitten that she named “Moo-cat” for his distinctly cow-like black and white patterning. When Moo-cat was about half-grown, he somehow managed to get himself stranded on a branch of a cypress tree in the middle of the pond by his humans’ house. Mind you, this tree grew directly from the water, and none of its branches overhung dry ground. That meant that there was no dry way down for Moo-cat (who detests water even more than most cats), so he sat there and yowled. When all coaxing failed, and we discovered that we couldn’t reach him with a net, we decided that drastic measures were called for. We got the Supersoaker and hosed him with it, causing him to fling himself from the branch and plummet ten feet into the water below. After the initial splashdown, he sort of…scurried… to the bank. He was not swimming, precisely–it was more like a kitty-hydrofoil; his little paws were churning so fast that he appeared to lift his entire body out of the water, as if he were walking on it.

Thereafter, we sometimes called him “the Moo-siah”. :wink:

How did Moo-cat get in the tree in the first place?!?

Priceless!:stuck_out_tongue: :stuck_out_tongue:

He claims aliens abducted him, then left him in the tree, but he’s been known to lie.

We never figured out how he managed it, really. Our only guess is that he somehow landed in the pond by accident, and the tree was the first dry place he saw. Naturally, a cat would never admit to such clumsiness.

And now for a dry cat story, or more precisely, 2 cats a dog and a mouse.

A friend of mine has 2 cats (littermates) and 2 adopted greyhounds. Last summer the cats had caught a mouse in the field next to the barn and were playing with it as cats will. One of the dogs watched this for about 2 minutes, and decided this had gone on long enough. He went over, grabbed the mouse and ran off into the field and released it. The mouse ran off apparently unscathed, leaving behind 2 thoroughly pissed off cats. I don’t generally have much sympathy for mice, but this was hysterical.


Back before my parents had either me or my sister, they had a Siamese cat named Monty. Now, one fine Thanksgiving, my parents had finished eating, and had left everything on the table for a bit while they washed up their hands, got some more to drink, etc., and relax a bit before cleaning up.

Imagine their surprise to see the turkey carcass moving across the floor…

…with four little feet and a bit of tail sticking out from under it…

…heading right for the couch.


…the carcass staggered back a bit, then tried again to get under the couch…


It’s really too bad they didn’t have a camera (of any kind) to take a picture of this.

<< Some mistakes are too much fun to make only once. >>

Another dry cat story, and another featuring two cats and a mouse. No dog, though.

Many years ago, our family would spend summers at my grandmother’s summer home on a lake. We had two cats, Jing and Min, and they always came with us.

Jing was all cat–when we were away for the summer, he enjoyed hunting mice and birds and other small creatures that he could catch. He had the attitude that the world was his, and he’d never stoop to doing anything for humans, unless there was something in it for him. A very independent cat.

Min was nothing at all like Jing. Easily distracted, more apt to want to play, and always demanding some kind of human attention or companionship, she remained like a kitten throughout her life. A terrific cat, but Jing’s opposite. She was no hunter, as he was, but they did get along well together.

One day, Min thought she might try hunting. She had watched Jing come home countless times with a small brown or grey object in his mouth, which was always, of course, a small animal of some kind. Anyway, he would show it to my father (who always complimented him), then take it into the cedar hedge where he would play with it before killing and eating it. I don’t know what Min was thinking, but she had seen this happen many times, and perhaps thought it was a way to impress the humans. And off she went to the fields behind the house.

Triumphantly, she returned with a small object in her mouth, and went looking for my father. When she found him, he let out a great laugh, and called us over–Min had hunted all right, and had managed to catch a piece of tree bark! So of course, she was complimented just like Jing was; and when she had heard enough, off she went into the hedge to play with her bark. Which she did. But she didn’t try to eat it, thankfully.

Casper (of a previously posted wet cat story) had a habit of putting the claws of his right front paw into the screen of the screen door and “knocking” when he wanted in or out. Whenever he knocked, Mom would oblige him by opening the door for his entrance or exit.

One day, he knocks on the door while she’s doing dishes, so, dish towel in hand (sure, this time she has the towel!), Mom opens the door. Casper stops and drops this grasshopper he’d been carrying in his mouth, with his teeth forming a little cage, right at her feet. Damn thing started jumping all over the place.

Mom drops the dish towel over the grasshopper, takes it outside & releases it. Casper was quite disturbed that she’d disposed of his “gift”, so he goes back out, catches it again, brings it back & presents it to her. Same results. The third time he brought it back he’d finally killed it, so this time it didn’t get tossed outside and he was quite pleased with himself.

BTW, Mom never got anymore gifts from Casper.

One morning our Main Coon presented us with a present, not unusual in itself, usually a mouse or chipmunk, but this time it was a quite large grey squirrel. I would have been impressed if it were not for the tread marks on its head. I got a shovel and proceeded to burry the obviously road killed present in the garden. The next morning there was a very dirty squirrel with tread marks on its head on the porch and a very proud cat showing off his latest conquest. This time I dug the hole somewhat deeper, placed a scrap piece of plywood on top and placed a cinder block on that, this time the squirrel stayed put.

But he REALLY wanted you to have that squirrel! Sheesh, spoil sport. :stuck_out_tongue:

Dear ** Marconi & Schmeese**. Thank you so much for posting the link to the Kitty Kitchen Treat Machine. I’ve been looking for that for ages!

My kitty stories. One for each.

Flail: When I got her as a kitten, she loved water. She would join me in the tub with no complaints, but her fur is so thick I doubt the water even gets to her skin. On at least one occasion, she’s also hurled herself into the toilet thinking the seat was down and would just sit there looking befuzzled. (Good thing she didn’t mind baths.)

She is obsessed with toilets. She loves the noise of a flushing toilet and will come investigate whenever it happens. When the lid is down, she’ll hop up and scratch madly at the tank. Sometimes I flush it and she rockets off into a whirlwind of hyperactivity, happy for a job well done.

Well one day, I was sitting on said toilet. She hopped up on the tub beside me and was scratching at the tank. I wasn’t paying attention, when suddenly the toilet flushed! Needless to say, while she was rocketing off in glee, I was trying to get my heart restarted. She’s never managed that since, but keeps on trying.

Scatter: She hates water. HATES it. This story involves a clawfoot tub, nudity and a clumsy cat.

I lived in a place where we had a huge clawfoot tub and baths became an almost religious experience for me. I’d stay in the tub with a book for ages, and Scatter (who’s my clingy monster) would get frustrated with me and start walking around the edge, wailing for me to get out. Sure enough, one day the inevitable happened. She fell in. I grabbed her quickly and FLUNG her out of the tub, but not before I was dealt some brutal claw marks. She missed hooking onto the piercings, for which I was grateful. Did this cure her from walking on tubs? Hell no.

Gator: No water story for this guy. He gets a starling story.

Back when he was allowed outside, he was quite the starling hunter. He was even belled! One day I was in the living room reading when I heard a muffled “meow” at the door. I open up and there he is presenting me with a dead starling. I pat him on the head and thank him for the gift. I promptly take it out to the side garden and bury it.

Five minutes later there’s another “meow” at the door. I open to see him and another dead starling. Pat pat, good boy. Off to the garden where I notice that he had just dug up the last starling where I had ungratefully buried his previous gift. I bury it again, and put a big rock on it.

Ten minutes later. “Meow” at the door. There he is with a starling and giving me an EVIL glare. How did that bugger dig it up?? I took it and went out to the yard. The previous grave was still intact and I guess that he just went to get another for his rude human who can’t appreciate his wonderful gifts.

I felt really bad. :slight_smile:

This happened last saturday and involves my ten-month-old black longhair. She’s very sweet and very curious.
I’ve been redecorating my bedroom and had to scrape off some wallpaper in the process. I was using a 1-inch putty knife and had tied some twine to the handle because I got tired of dropping the darned thing while I was up on the ladder. Well, everyone knows how much kitties love string, right?
Saturday I was in the bathroom, changing clothes, when I heard this odd thunking sound. Suddenly, a black, furry, flying object streaks past the open door, heading down the hallway at about mach 5. My kitty had been playing with the string on the putty knife and gotten tangled up in it then panicked when she couldn’t get loose. She ran from room to room like a fuzzy maniac, all the time trailing this scary foreign object- thunka, thunka, thunka. She covered every square inch in my house trying to rid herself of it. By the time I was able to pull my clothes on, laughing so hard tears were running down my face, and go after her she’d already gotten free of it when it caught underneath my desk in the living room and was hiding under my bed.
A little cuddling and soothing got her over her fright in no time, but, oh my, it was the funniest things I’ve seen in a long while.

A few years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night and noticed Sir William, my tomcat, had caught a mouse. I stroked him and said “Good kitty.” Then, as I was about to return to the arms of Morpheus, I noticed he was holding the mouse over my boot. I took it away from the bastard and threw it outside.

Several weeks ago, my female cat Spooky came in from outside with a dead mouse in her mouth. She laid it on the floor and commenced grooming herself. I thought she was done with the carcass, so I picked it up. However, I had just started to lift the carcass when she ran over, snatched the body out of my hand, and then ran into the kitchen to play with the remains. (The vicious little bitch likes to bat the bodies of dead mice around before eating them.)