Thursday, December 01, 2005

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

That's right, I have to come clean now.

I'm terrified of dogs. And bicycles.

It all started when I was just a tiny toddler, cycling out at the park on my bicycle (don't get too excited Cupcake, training wheels were involved). The events that are about to unfold will in some way lead to my complete and unwavering distrust in bicycles, but that itself is another story for another paragraph.

And here we are, all ready to expose my absolute terror of cheap transportation - as the story goes, a little boy who happened to share the same name as I do was given a training bicycle for his birthday. It was blue I guess, and there were thin rubber strips that sprouted out from the handle bars that fluttered in the wind whenever our little protagonist would cycle fast.

Kelvin, from Kelvin and Hobbes, had a killer bicycle that attempted to kill him whenever he tried to ride it. I know how he feels.

And fastly cycle did he, round and round the jogging track of the park. Nothing could stand in his way; he was the racing demon of Yishun.


Falling down the ugly tree and hitting every branch on the way down

Picture this - a rabid dog with serious mental issues taking our hero out for the ride of his life, probably jealous of the new bicycle and therefore made an effort to attempt to tear my bloody legs off.

The episode ended when a kind lady got tired of laughing at a little boy cycling away from a psychotic dog with a training bicycle and took the initiative to hinder the dog's movement with her umbrella. Personally, I'm against animal abuse, but this bugger's just pushing it too far along the line.

And so our hero was saved! That's if you consider fine a crying kid with severely tired legs, overworked blood vessels, and a sore neck from all the turning behind to check if the killer mutt's gaining on him.

It didn't last very long, which was good because not a lot of people I know would like to be chased for prolonged periods of time by a bag of saliva with legs. Yessiree...

All dogs go to heaven. That's where they get kicked around by people like me. It wouldn't be fun without them there, those drooling, attention-seeking morons.

Which brings me to the true debate of the day -

Cats Vs. Dogs

As we all know, Cats and Dogs have been immortalized in modern culture, where they serve the human master as pets. Although science has proven that owning pets and spending time with them will reduce stress levels drastically, I pity the poor soul who told their daddy they wanted a dog instead of a cat.

It's not a fair fight - cats rule, dogs drool. You do the math.

There's a ruling that cat's aren't allowed in apartment flats AT ALL, while small dogs are graciously accepted as long as they have licenses. I've found this totally absurd, and I have a few examples to illustrate the blunder-headedness of canines.

scenario One: It's the exams and you're in a fix because of the lowly excuses for students that the lecturer has stuck you with. That's right, it's crunch time, and all you can do now to salvage your grades is a week-long hiatus at home with your text books.

In comes little bow-wow and seeing how you're always at home, thinks that you want to spend more time playing with him. The little critter misses you a lot, and since you've had the little critter for dog-gone years, "Tiny" has grow to the size of a mini-bus. But hey, the bloody thing misses you, and so lets you know it (like all mutts do) by pouncing on you every once in a while and slobbering his viscous drool all over you.

You're glad he's so affectionate. You fail your exam coz Tiny won't leave you alone.

Boo hoo.

scenario Two: It's your girlfriend's birthday, and you spend the last twenty years planning this really special day. Everything's going to go right - candlelight dinner, dancing at the ballroom, and then retirement to her place for some cake and music.

Except that Mindy's pet poodle Pookie LOVES candles. The lights make her go nuts, and the poofy thing ends up in flames coz she won't stop going near and sniffing the damn sticks of burning wax. "first degree burns" says the vet late that evening, and all you can see is the look of concern on your girlfriend's face as she interrogates the vet and asks why the Pookie the pet poodle is so damn dumb.

Yup, she's forgotten about the fabulous birthday that you planned. Did I mention she's going to stay over at the animal hospital hospital to tend to Pookie the pet poodle even though dogs can't do much communication except by drooling and whining?

The list is endless - chocking on balls when playing fetch, taking playtime too seriously and biting off your hand, drool, not knowing where the damn toilet is until you beat the fact into his stupid canine head, making noise at every cricket chatter at the door five blocks away, drool, humping your [insert common household item here], emptying your wallet every month because it eats so damn much (brain capacity is not equal to the amount an animal eats, but rather inversely proportionate), drool, eating your homework.

With your friendly neighborhood feline however, you can count your blessings because not only is the cat smaller and much more low-maintainance, she comes with a self-learning program that automatically upgrades itself as she gets older. She's cheaper, smarter, cleaner, quieter, and definately drool-free.

But enough talk, for a picture says a thousand words.

Here's lookin' at you kid!
Cats rule.

No comments: