Worlds Coolest Rustle WLHL

Domestic Shorthair
Picture of Worlds Coolest Rustle WLHL, a male Domestic Shorthair

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Home:Leeds, Yorkshire, United Kingdom  [I have a diary!]  
Age: 9 Years   Sex: Male   Weight: 7 lbs.

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   Leave a treat for Worlds Coolest Rustle WLHL

Rustle, Rusty, Little Boy, Walker

Kitty Complexion:
sleepyvery active
not curiousvery curious
not vocalvery vocal

Sun Sign:
Quick Bio:
-part feral

August 24th 2007

Orange Tabby

exploring, eating, making friends, girls.

empty dishes

Favorite Toy:
santa on a string

Favorite Nap Spot:
Fake leopard fur coat, it's super snuggly and he looks so gorgeous on it

Favorite Food:
anything, but if there's any of that chicken going....

natural charm

indoors and outdoors

Arrival Story:
Russell/Rustle is so new that even the spelling of his name isn't certain yet. Rustle was a big kitten when he first turned up and so cute I thought he was just a cheeky pet exploring the neighbourhood. As time went on it became apparant that he was homeless so, in spite of many scratches he was sent out with paper collars bearing messages to any possible owners. No replies ever appeared and he continued to be fed around the corner until one day he appeared with a big bald patch in his chest. It was straight to the vet for him. He had a big flea allergy to treat and needed neutering and all his jabs. Two months of steroids and cream and he was family.

Rusty is gutsy little cat, he just kept coming back in spite of fierce opposition from Jaffa and Lulu. At first he was wild and nervy, scratching and biting all the time. He has calmed down loads, probably due to his op and will now actively seek attention instead of just putting up with it. He recently brought a girlfriend home who I mistook for Lulu in a sleepy, early moment, he was very cross when I put her out, (she had collar on and was clearly someone's darling), Lulu will never, ever forgive me for the oversight. Rusty is definitely a ladies man and adores Tina, Sue and Prudence in particular. He would make a thoughtful boyfriend and his current picture, courtesy of Lulu, doesn't do him justice. His true loveliness has yet to be immortalised but heads will turn when the first pix are posted.

Lives Remaining:
8 of 9

Forums Motto:
Good 'ere innit?

The Last Forum I Posted In:
Next Euro Kitty and Pals Pawty: sept. 19

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is:
Most Noble and Honourable Rustle the Unlikely of Peevish St Victor
Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

I've Been On Catster Since:
March 1st 2008 More than 9 years!

Rosette, Star and Special Gift History

Catster Id:

Meet my family
Worlds Coolest
Jaffa Who LHL
Worlds Coolest
Lulu O'Soc WLH

Meet my Feline Friends
See all my Feline Friends
See all my Feline Friends

Diary of a Yorkshire Puddy

His Mightiness The Pharaoh needs purrs

June 7th 2011 12:52 pm
[ Leave A Comment | 1 person already has ]

An evil uberdemon has stricken none other than our own beloved Pharaoh with a puke plague. Hard to believe but true, HRH The Pharaoh Loki Mahes-Bollier is laid low and needs purrs. Please join together to thwart this attack on his Royal person.


Knicker knickers

November 24th 2010 9:54 am
[ Leave A Comment | 4 people already have ]

Please don't believe Jaffa's diary. I never said that magpies stole a pair of Mum's giant pants off the washing line to make their nest. I wouldn't be so stupid, it was crows, I do know the difference!


The Raven

October 30th 2010 3:04 pm
[ Leave A Comment | 4 people already have ]

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore

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