The theological and literary jottings of a Deacon and novelist. Writing ersatz Victorian fiction in the age of the e-book, and trying to walk the Way.
Friday, July 31, 2015
Whaddaya Want Me to Do, Capture it and Rehabilitate It?
I always laugh at this scene, because la Caterina and I are a bit like this. Now that our cats are getting older, and less inclined to hunt, we occasionally get a mouse, which just becomes ridiculous now that our one mouser is gone. So la C tries to shame the cats into action, I flail into action with all the panache of Alvy Singer, and the mouse. . . well, he probably just goes to another room and waits for less noise.
So when I saw a story on a friend's site that made me think about the whole "Pit Bull debate" that periodically breaks out, I had to laugh at my own thought processes. Now, let me preface this by saying that I have no settled conviction on the matter. I have two friends who have had pit bulls, one whose pit has been a source of joy from puppyhood to old age, who's a big mush (bullied by the Chihuahua!), and just a gentle lamb. The other had a bad experience. Both were, as far as I know, equally good dog owners.
But the thought that flashed through my mind was "Never mind a pit bull, who wants to go to sleep in a room with any animal that has a fair shot of killing you while you're out cold?"
I mean, maybe this is why I'm a cat guy. If one of my feline friends goes for my throat, I kinda like my odds. A dobie, or a mastiff, somewhat less so.
I could probably take a dachshund if I had to, and they're cute, too...
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