Off the Cuff: Blame it on the cat

First they had him. Buddy. The sleek, black-coated Labrador Retriever. He was barely six months old when they — Mikhaila and Vince — got him. They themselves had been married a mere six months.

True to his breeding, Buddy made friends with everyone, including the inquisitive magpie that strolled up and down outside his kennel tempting him to, "Come out and catch me, don't be a lazybones!" even after he'd just curled up in the sheltered shade.

He was even happy to allow the magpie to inspect his bone. He'd just sit in the shade watching when the bird sometimes dragged the bone halfway across the yard. Then when the bone had travelled far enough he'd saunter across and retrieve it, placing it at the mouth of the kennel. Whereupon the bird would toddle over and begin towing it away once more. It was a game they both got used to and appeared to enjoy.

Neither of them could see the dark clouds massing on the horizon. This unique friendship was nearing its end. Mikhaila had fallen pregnant and a baby was due soon.

"Most young couples, with a baby on the way would put a restraint on any further acquisitions," said my friend Barney, who gave me the material for this article on condition that I mention him somewhere. But not Mikhaila and Vince. Mikhaila, citing the irrational cravings of pregnancy, went out and returned with Misty.

"It will be like preparing for our own two-child family down the road, one girl and one boy hopefully," she told Vince.

"But Misty's not a female dog!" Vince pointed out.

"Exactly, Vince, you know how I love cats, plus it's obvious how different girls and boys are anyway," Mikhaila explained. "She's such a cutie and I can guarantee she'll bring us lots of happiness, won't you my little darling?"

If cats could talk, Misty would have sworn right on the spot it was going to totally raise the standard of cat behaviour.

Within a day the magpie was nowhere to be seen — at least terrestrially.

Tasty snack

Misty had apparently served it notice: Stay up in your branches high above or descend at your peril . Buddy, true to his nature, adopted Misty as his friend as soon as he clapped eyes on her.

"See Vince," said Mikhaila a few months later, pointing to Buddy and Misty curled up under the lemon tree in the backyard in the middle of the morning, "I told you they'd be a perfect match."

"Yea," replied Vince, a trifle doubtfully, "I'd like to see Buddy show a little more energy, not flop around. Looks like Misty's already taken over the role of teacher."

"Oh tosh, Vince, don't be negative. Have trust in Bud."

Then the baby arrived and the system, which was already showing cracks, went to pieces. Diaper-changing and bottle-washing became priorities. Buddy, who hadn't been permitted to walk through the house as he pleased, was now to be found sharing a pair of couch cushions with Misty.

One day when the baby's christening lunch was threatening to spiral into a much bigger affair, Vince returned with the meat and prawns. Then the baby cried, then the phone rang and Mikhaila rushed out of the shower to answer it and when everybody was suitably distracted Misty — overcome with smell of seafood — showed Buddy how he could use his superior height to knock the prawns on to the floor.

An argument ensued, it dampened the day and only Buddy hadn't a clue what he'd done wrong.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.