Saturday, March 10, 2007


Well, before I get to the "meat and potatoes" of today's post, I feel that I should tell all of you about... Oh, damn... whatever, let's just get on with the show!

Fangoria refers to (as opposed to "reefers") a certain black panther of our mutual acqaintance (sp?). For those of you knot in the know, I'm refering (reefering) to my panther.

The last time we wrestled "his royal hignesses butt" into the car and managed to get him (it) to the vet without a 3 quart loss of blood (mine, not his), was about 9 months ago.

The vet visit then was because "the cat" was feeling a little crook. I noticed he was crook cus when he launched his furry butt at me from high speed via the balcony (him on the balcony, not me) and I would (sometimes) catch him --meaning 20 claws and many fangs would envelope my torso as he bowled me over-- I noticed a slightly pitiful mewling cry emanating from his vocal cords (or it could have been from me).

Well, of course, I'd instantly lower all 100 kilos of him gently to the ground with various platitudes of reassurances emanating from me, but, alas, to no avail: the panther was crook!

Sooooo, off to the vet he goes...

We have a "special" cat carrier for him... It involves 30 yards of barbed wire strung throughout the back seat, ten rolls of duct tape, and lots of yelling and screaming --me yelling, the cat screaming!

So, we get to the vet... oops, gosh, there's a WAIT! Oh no! Let's see... the bill for the mangled pit bulls, the wire bird cages turned into confetti, the miniature schnauzers used as cat batting practice, two traumatized interns... Hmmm, let us just summarize by saying that the cat (His Royal Highness Prince Bagheera) will never have to wait for an appointment at the vets ever again.

So what does the vet do during the exam? Firstly, he (wisely) decides NOT to take Bagheera's temp with a rectal thermometer --the cat would've shoved the thermometer somewhere where the vet wouldn't like-- . However (and give the vet credit for this) he did manage to pry the "jaws of death" open and remarked, "Damned nice set of fangs he has there." I must put a note here, I'm very (pleasantly) surprised with the amount of blood a standard towel will soak up when applied to a severely gashed human wrist.

The diagnosis you ask? The "cat" has a strained muscle in his back... must've been when he was dispatching that timber wolf while holding a kangaroo in his jaws.

So, like, what does this have to do (due) with today? I'm telling you this so you may know just how much of a WUSS the cat has become... I walked out to the backyard towards the garage today (actually, I do that a lot) and I was startled by a group of PIGEONS alofting themselves from the back lawn. THE CAT was also startled from his dreamy reverie after the pigeons flew the coop.

Get this folks: the mean, nasty, vicious, huge black panther was asleep in the back yard with pigeons TWO FEET away from him... The cat then had the temerity to come up to me, bowl me over, and purr and slobber and fall alseep on me.

Do you understand what I deal with each day?!!!????!?!??!!

Ok, food:

Here's a tip; when making onion rings, make sure you slice the rings thickly and dredge them in plain yoghurt before crumbing them. The crumbs will deep fry beautifully and the onions will be done when the breading is. The yoghurt will insure the breading sticks to the rings, not letting any oil touch the rings. And make sure you use very hot and fresh oil (sunflower or olive).

More soon, especially about my knee,

cheers from Oz (not the tv show),


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