There’s a quiet revolution in the wings and it’s one that has been bubbling for a while among the less highly evolved in the animal kingdom. Once worshipped as Gods and deities Man has put the rest of the animal kingdom in second place since the birth of Christianity. But animal lovers are beginning to notice a rising angst amongst our winged brothers, gilled acquaintances, and four-legged friends.

The King of Pop may have died this week but has anyone wondered what on earth has happened to Bubbles? He was Wacko Jacko’s pet chimp who he used to hang out with in public, who went on a tour to Japan with him once, who reportedly use to stay in his own hotel room. As strange as this sounds… if Macaulay Culkin was invited into Michaels bed, then why not Bubbles? We saw pictures telecast this week of an empty Neverland compete with empty cages, where once lavished upon chimps once lived. Cages of emptiness and remnants of monkey business beg the question… how was Bubbles really treated?

Little do most people know that Bubbles has been slumming it up in a sanctuary called the Centre For Great Apes for the past four years. Michaels constant companion throughout the late 80’s was simply cast aside, like an aging Hollywood actress, due to him becoming increasingly aggressive. I’m not sure what was the straw that broke the camels back, perhaps he was fed-up with receiving bananas, but in recent months there has been a spate of monkeys gone wild. From the extreme such as Xanaz fuelled Travis who ripped off his owners friends face, to more calculated  assaults such as Santino in Sweden’s Furuvik Zoo. He collects stones and bits of concrete at dawn in preparation to haul them at visitors when the zoo opens its gates at 9.00 am.

Santino’s behaviour has fascinated Scientists as apparently he is living proof that animals can plan for the future, a trait that before now had been thought to be unique to human beings. But it appears to me that a couple of boffins have discovered what has been glaringly obvious to pet owners the world over for years. Pets I have known in the past have not only made plans for the future but have also manufactured them out of pure unadulterated spite.

Like for example that cockhead rooster we once owned, his crowing so obnoxious that we raised the perch in the roost. This essentially lowed the roof in accordance with the theory that a rooster wont crow if he cannot lift his head. Well, while old mate was banging his head on the roof each morning little did we know he was becoming increasingly bitter. Fed-up with the headache one day he sort revenge on my Mum. I looked out the window on hearing a commotion to see Dad running full pelt across the paddock to the dam where Mum was screaming while beating the crap out of the rooster with an old fashioned (and very heavy) cane washing basket. The little savage wouldn’t stop and it took Dad holding his head under water and throwing him to the middle of the dam three times (he swam back each time… did back stroke on the last occasion the little smart arse) until he finally ceased attacking. And yes he did live to tell the tale.

But cats are more cunning and clever when it comes to premeditated attacks. Just watch Funniest Home Videos any given Saturday night to witness various moggies in motion mid air about to land on the face of someone’s adored toddler after hiding out and waiting for the perfect moment to leap. And a first hand example of this is the time I house-sat for a friend in Paddington and took care of what was then and still now known as “Evil Morrie”. A white Manx cat with Martian like features and a dislike for everyone. One night while relaxing watching the box he walked determinedly in from the courtyard straight to my shoe where he delivered a live cockroach. And if that’s not proof enough that he wanted me gone, what about early one morning when he had a clean litter tray and a full tummy but continued to wine at me to get out of (his) bed. I ignored him until he bit me, then sat up and noticed in the nick of time a steaming hot shit next to the bed… right where my feet were about to go.

Then there’s my friends dog Sonny, by name but not by nature. A closet homosexual, this dog greatly dislikes females. Flamboyantly gay, he is in love with his owner who has to be extra careful when scratching his belly as with one subtle move by Sonny and he can come microns within tickling his little sausage. But Sonny is not a complete misogynistic little bastard as after the initial aggression he does warm to females… but like Groundhog Day (or 50 First Dates) he has a relapse on the next meeting. In fact the little white ball of fluff has been known to launch himself on a cleanly shaven leg, bite hard, and draw blood. His owner recently bought him a muzzle which although a remedy for the biting has allowed Sonny to embrace his inner kink and machinate further masochistic moments.

So the moral of the story is: be kind to your pet (but in Sonny’s case, not too kind). And although at times we cannot hear our pets speak, we are not guaranteed that they will forever hold their peace. Basically pets get pissed-off too so don’t take them for granted just because they haven’t told you so.

I recently moved two stray cats from Cloncurry into my family’s home owned by one snooty Chinchilla… Mer. She is pretty pissed-off at me and not just because they are Queenslanders, but for letting them into her home. I woke up Saturday morning and went into the lounge room to find shit streak after shit streak on the tiles and on the carpet. 20 to 40 cm long skid marks where she has had poo stuck to the fur around her bum and has dragged her arse along the ground in an effort to remove it. Gagging, I was down on all fours cleaning it up when I tilted my head to the left a little and noticed the letters F… U… C… K…  Y… O… U… spelt out by the skid marks.

PS I’m told Bubbles is alive and well and after years of abuse and neglect will be revealing all on Dr Phil this week.