Thursday, 23 June 2011

Dictionary, Please and Parental Dilemmas

I was walking home yesterday and saw the following sign, crudely printed and propped against a tree.


Dudes, I don’t know whether you’ve got a case or not, but I don’t think the sign is going to help you. I mean, I’m sorry, I know there are people who have trouble with language, and I know what with not teaching spelling and grammar in school and the rise of text messaging, things are a bit shakier than they used to be. But if you’re trying to communicate something and be taken seriously, you might want to verify things like homonyms, spelling, and appropriate places for word breaks. I’m pretty good with language, but I was halfway down the block before I figured it out, after trying and rejecting theories involving aspirin (included in a class of drugs called NSAIDs for Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory Drugs), religion, and possibly sex-change operations.

Reminds me of a T-shirt I saw back in high school, printed with “Huked On Foniks Wurkt For Me”.

And the parental issues: Julia caught a mouse last night while she was out on her leash with me! Just came to attention all of a sudden, stuck her head in a clump of soapwort, and came out with a cute, very plump, white-bellied mouse. It was still apparently unharmed, but squeaking most distressfully, so I asked her if she was going to kill it and eat it. But she wanted to trot off and play with it instead, so I made her let it go. Poor thing took a moment to get its bearings, and headed off into the bushes, with a tale to tell the grandkids, I suspect. And Julia looked for it for a few minutes, and looked very reproachful at me. She squawked to go back outside again once we got in, too, despite the rain.
 I feel kind of bad – I mean, this is what cats do, right? And I’m sure she’s caught them at the farm. She will be out in the field for hours at a time, and only stop in for half a bite of food now and then. Chances are she’s not emulating T.S. Eliot’s Jennyanydots and teaching the mice ‘…music, crocheting, and tatting.’ But any of the other cats there bringing their prey home bring it dead (except for the time Lily tried to teach old Nick to hunt again) so I don’t have to hear it squeaking. Besides, who knows what these city mice eat? And it’s not like she’s starving. So while I’m proud of her hunting prowess, um, let's go with the catch and release method, please.

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