Aversed, scissors, the truth about cats and dogs

[Tabouli]

(Tabouli, though flattered by the praise of OT members, was somewhat embarassed when she received her digests and realised just how carried away she got with those verses.  She sternly tells her rhyming muscles that they have had their weekly workout, and it is time for them to behave).

David Frankadillo:
> now, as we were saying about Sam Gamgee...

I glance disdainfully at the bait, sheath my sword and hang up my shield in the armoury.  Tom I like (just in case any of you hadn't guessed this by now), Gollum I like, Sam (who illustrates Tolkien's embeddedness in the English class system with trumpets and neon lights), I tolerate as a necessary evil.  Sort of Frodo's Hagrid.  (Great man, Frodo, great man).  Even *my* rhyming muscles feel scarcely tempted to lift a pen on his behalf.  Although...

I do not like that Gamgee, Sam, I do not like him, Sam-I-am,
I like him not in orcish suits, his tongue all black from Frodo's boots,
I do not like him bearing Sting, I do not like him with the Ring,
I...  AAARGGHH... enoughenoughenough!  Down, pen, down!

Joywitch:
> Congrats to the Diamondback and Braves fans, but not to the Oakland 
fans because I am rooting for the Yankees.

Amy:
> As someone once famously said, "Rooting for the Yankees is like 
rooting for Walden Macnair."

(um, did all the other Australians on the list stifle a well-worn snigger?  Just to let you know, there is a hardy perennial joke in Australia which revolves around the American use of the verb "to root", which means something, er, else, over here.  Something which is often linked with the American word rubber, which in Australia is the thing you use to rub out writing in pencil...)

On scissors:

One of you southpaws who can use right handed scissors left-handedly should fly over to Australia and teach me!  After starting piano lessons at the age of 5 (a old Chinese migrant tradition - Amy Tan wasn't kidding there), I've never been able to bear having nails anything other than very short, and such is my untidiness I can never find nail clippers when I want them.  As a result, all too often I find myself trying to cut the nails on my right hand using right-handed scissors left-handedly and making a total hash of it.  I end up with fringed, fraying nails in strange cuboid shapes which rapidly fragment into hundreds of hangnails because I can't get the blades to cut properly.  I sometimes end up trying to chew them into line in desperation.  Of course, maybe I should just buy some new, sharper scissors (or find my nail clippers).

On cats:

To my eternal sorrow, I am allergic to cats.  Very.  After entering a house where cats lurk, I start to develop a tell-tale itchiness around the throat, eyes and lips, which, depending on the cat (kittens are less bad, fluffy shedders are a nightmare) and how recently and thoroughly the house was vacuumed, can escalate into an impressive blotchy skin, puffy eyes, sneezing and general feelings of itchy malaise.  It's very depressing, as I adored cats as a little girl: this was how I found out, I was about 5, and happily sitting with this lovely cat in my lap stroking and playing with it, with my entire face swollen up, and my eyes and nose running merrily while I scratched my lips and face, imbuing my skin with still more essence of cat.  My father uttered a squawk of horror, dragged the cat away from me, dosed me with anti-histamines and gave me the sad news.

I therefore have to be a dog lover by default, which is not so bad, except that it rather scuppers any chance of me having a house pet while I'm living in a flat (I've considered rats, birds, rabbits and the like, but it's just not the same.  I do like lizards...).  A cat would be fine mostly left to its own devices: a dog needs company and attention and walking and washing and it's all too much.  Moreover, I'm not a fan of the little yappy dog (I like 'em with a bit of substance, a dog you can rest your feet on without killing it), and any dog of decent size needs a decent garden to roam in.  My heart is wrung when I see big dogs moping all day in the one by two metre spaces in the front of terrace houses while their owners are at work.  There was one poor fellow I used to walk past every day on the way to university who looked so lonely and miserable I came quite close to letting him out and taking him for a walk, or at least giving him a bit of company.  I suppose I could have banged on his owners' door one night and asked if they'd let me do this, or told them off for their neglect, but I'm a bit of a wimp at that sort of thing...

Tabouli.


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