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Quirky Folk - March 2008

Unlike others in my family, my Uncle Patrick was lucky enough to finish high school in Hong Kong, meaning he could read and write English very well. (I say lucky as education is costly in Hong Kong so most of my female relatives were forced to finish high school early so they could get jobs to put the males through school.)

When my uncle decided to migrate to Australia in the late seventies, he thought he would brush up on his English so he wouldn’t need to ask people for help. One of the first things he made sure he knew was the various words for toilets: lavatory, male, mens, gents etc. That put him in good stead until he went to a zoo. Instead of seeing a symbol of a man or the word male/mens/gents he was confronted with the words LION and LIONESS. For once, Uncle Patrick was stumped. He had never come across these words before in his English dictionary and was unsure of which one to use.


When he told me this story, he had me roaring (sorry) in laughter. He then told me about one of his cooks who fell asleep on the train between Newcastle and Sydney – the poor sucker had been asleep for six hours and when he woke up he found he was back at Newcastle.

Uncle Patrick also told me about the first time he tried to use public transport in Australia. He knew how to spell Sydney but didn’t know that you had to get off at Central station to go to Chinatown which is near the CBD or that none of the train stops around the CBD had Sydney as part of their name. So when he saw a train heading for Sydenham, he naturally thought that was the train to catch to go to Chinatown. Imagine his shock when he hopped off at Sydenham station and was greeted by suburbia instead of skyscrapers.

But back to the lions. Years later I got a job at ING. You know, the company that has a lion logo. I told my sister there were three types of toilets at ING: one for lions, one for lionesses and another for lion cubs. My sister never believed that story and rightly accused me of basing it on Uncle Patrick’s story.
HansomeLion
Photo by Trisha M Shears. Courtesy Wikimedia Commons.


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My Feline Friend Bites me

March 30th 2008 21:00
Over the weekend I spotted my feline friend. As usual, he miaowed when he saw me. I love that as it’s like he’s saying hello to me. He lay on his back and rolled his head right back towards the ground, all the time miaowing at me. I wasn’t sure what he wanted so I started stroking him. I stroked his head and when I moved to stroke the front of his neck, he kept pulling his head back so I took it I was giving him what he wanted. He looked so happy lying on his back with his eyes closed and mouth slightly opened. Then all of a sudden, he hopped back up and tried to bite me. Shocked, I instantly pulled my hand away. He kept miaowing at me and went back to lying on his back. I went back to stroking his neck and the sides of his face as it crossed my mind that maybe, as my cat-owner friend Andrea once said, the kitty actually wanted to nibble – not bite – me.

Today, I got the chance to find out. I was walking to work and saw a woman hanging around the stairs where my feline friend normally hangs out. She was bent over and it looked liked she was feeding an animal. By the time I got to the stairs she had gone but there was my kitty friend. I said, “Hello, friend” and he miaowed at me. I stroked his back and he rubbed his body along the steel fence that runs alongside the stairs. I was so busy playing with him I didn’t notice his teeth on my fingers until it was too late. In any case, all I got was a gentle nibble so maybe Andrea was right after all. I then stroked the side of his face and he gently rubbed his teeth against my finger.
Kitty Friend
My Kitty Friend
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Cat Sleeping in a Weird Position

March 27th 2008 21:00
I’m a big Wikipedia fan as you never know what you’re going to come across when you’re doing a search. I was searching for a picture of a ginger tabby and came across this gem:

Cat Sleeping in a Weird Position link

It does look weird. I wonder if the cat gets tired from sleeping with his paws above his head. I know I get tired whenever that happens to me. I wake up with really sore arms. Worse is when I sleep with my head twisted to the side. The muscles on my neck become really sore the next day and it takes hours before they go back to normal.

But it’s funny how cats like to adopt certain positions. For example, my neighbour’s cats Higgins and Miggins like to sit with their paws stretched out a la the Sphinx. But my friend’s cat Butterscotch liked to tuck his paws underneath his chest when he sits. It looks uncomfortable but it can’t be too uncomfortable as he always sits like that.

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Words I Never Want to Hear

March 26th 2008 21:00
I was browsing at my local bookstore and picked up a book called Beating Anger by Mike Fisher. There was a chapter about how people trivialise other people’s problems and it had an example of someone saying, “It’s only a cat; we can get another one.” Only a cat? Only a dog? Only a duck? I can’t believe how people can be so insensitive but I know they do exist. I remember making an appointment to see a counsellor when my grandma died and the receptionist said, “Oh, grandmothers die all the time.” I know they do but I was horrified at her tactlessness and I never want to hear that from anyone again.

When my ducks died it was as if someone close to us had died. My sister and I were depressed and listless for days. My parents got us new ducks but they weren’t the same. When my sister’s favourite budgerigar died she cried, something she seldom does. Even when her goldfish die we feel sad as we get very attached to our pets.

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Hausente
Photo by Maren Winter. Used in accordance with the terms of Wikimedia Commons’ GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2 or any later version published by the Free Software Foundation; with no Invariant Sections, no Front-Cover Texts, and no Back-Cover Texts.


As our ducks got older, they became more inquisitive. No longer content with our backyard, they started to explore our neighbour’s property. Luckily, we got on with Mr Harry and he didn’t mind our ducks trespassing onto his joint.
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My Friend’s Rat Phobia

March 24th 2008 21:00
WWCPS
Photo by Rafal Stryjek. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
The funny thing about phobias is they are not universally shared. But they do share one common denominator: they are irrational fears. One of my friends is scared of something that I’m not scared of: rats. If we happen to walk past a Waste Hawk bin and there’s rats running around it she gets the willies. And yet, she can’t seem to understand why I’m so scared of caterpillars. She thinks my phobia is silly. I find this attitude annoying as I don’t comment on her rat phobia but she seems to think I make a big deal about caterpillars.

Thank God for my friend Andrea. The one thing I really like about Andrea is how she doesn’t judge her friends unless they do something to hurt her. So I can talk to her about my phobias without fear of being ridiculed. Andrea is also a caterpillar phobic which helps. We end up having these conversations about how we’re simultaneously revolted and fascinated by caterpillars.

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Another Boring Easter (pt 2)

March 23rd 2008 21:00
Ahhh, it’s now Easter Monday. I’m not religious (sorry) so this period has no significance for me. Thank God the shops are open today. I’m going nuts from the lack of contact with ‘civilization’. “Two long ears” (AKA Lindt chocolate Easter bunnies) – if there are any left – will be half priced today. Too bad Lindt chocolates are the first to sell out so I doubt there will be any “two long ears” left.

When “two long ears” were first available a couple of years ago my sister and I would buy them. But once the novelty wore off, we stopped. Ditto Krispy Kremes. When the KK store opened in the Sydney CBD I saw queues of at least 50 people and heard stories about how people queued for an hour to get their hands on some KKs. A couple of years later, I can walk into that store at practically any time and be served within five minutes.

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Another Boring Easter (pt 1)

March 20th 2008 21:00
Am I the only one who finds Easter boring? I hate it whenever shops are closed. I have a fear of running out of food so I always make sure my refrigerator is well stocked with food and drinks but I can never shake the feeling maybe I’ve forgotten to buy something and the shops are shut so I’m stuck.

I usually spend Easter at my sister’s place. We’re too old for Easter bunnies so we don’t gorge on chocolate. However, I like to mimic the “two long ears” voice over on the Lindt Easter bunny commercials. This drives my sister nuts. If we happen to walk past the chocolate section in a department store and I see the Lindt bunnies I will say, “two long ears”.

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Butterscotch and Gingersnap Bite me

March 19th 2008 21:00
My friend’s cats, Butterscotch and Gingersnap are like dogs – they like to follow me around, especially when I am going to his toilet. Even before I get the chance to shut the door they are there, standing in front of the toilet bowl. I then use the toilet in front of them. Usually they will watch. One time, though, Gingersnap came up to me and headbutted my leg through my pants. According to Kittens for Dummies by Dusty Rainbolt, this is an I-love-you sign. “I love you too, Gingersnap,” I said to the cat.

But one time, while I was on the throne, Butterscotch came up to me and bit the front of my leg while Gingersnap bit the back. It wasn’t painful but it did give me a shock! I said, “Gentle!” and the cats unhinged their jaws from me.

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Pretending to be a Duck

March 18th 2008 21:00
Female duck at rocky national park
Photo by K. Iee. Used in accordance with the terms of Wikimedia Commons’ GNU Free Documentation License, Version 1.2 or any later version published by the Free Software Foundation; with no Invariant Sections, no Front-Cover Texts, and no Back-Cover Texts.
Have you ever been to a duck pond and started making quacking noises? If so, you will know that the nearby ducks will stop what they’re doing and tilt their heads to the side to try to work out where the sound is coming from. They don’t seem to notice it is the human standing in front of them. I have done this many times and even when I am standing there with my mouth open they seem to think it’s coming from another duck.

I made this discovery with my ducks, Brown-o and White-o. One day I started quacking at them and time stood still as they stood, frozen to the ground, their ears keenly attuned to the sound.

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One of my friends calls me the Rottweiler. I am also known as the shark or white pointer. Why? Because I’m a grouch and when people make me mad I can be really aggressive. But I don’t think being aggressive is necessarily a bad thing. It’s all to do with context. For example, if someone keeps bothering you, of course you’re going to lose your cool. I am analogous to a guard dog in someone’s backyard. When left alone, I am calm, peaceful and happy but any interaction with people (particularly those I don’t know or like) can trigger an angry outburst as I protect my territory i.e. my personal space.

All my friends think I’m a grouch. But friends from work, who haven’t yet seen this side of me, think I’m a pushover. I keep explaining to them that I am normally not this easy going but I have to be because I can’t afford to get into arguments with people at work. Not only that, most of the people at my workplace are really easy to get along with so there’s no need for me to show my aggro side. Too bad my work friends don’t believe me when I try to explain that what they see at work isn’t necessarily the ‘real’ me. I find it strange as we all have a work personality. Most people would know that when you turn up for work you have to adhere to a certain standard of conduct, whether it’s how you behave or dress. So I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble trying to convince my work friends that I’m not the pushover they think I am.

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My Kitty Friend Plays Dead

March 16th 2008 21:00
One hot summer afternoon I found my kitty friend lying behind a steel fence near the stairs. He miaowed at me before he rolled over on his back and lay there with his paws up in the air, mouth half opened. He didn’t move at all. At first I wondered if there was something wrong with him but then I figured it couldn’t be. However, he did look sick/dead. His performance was so convincing that a passer-by stopped and watched the cat for a moment. “Is this cat sick?” he asked me.

“I think he’s okay,” I said.

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The Dead Cat

March 13th 2008 21:00
Sleeping cat
Photo by Khamaileon. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.


I must have been about five years old when I came across a dead ginger tabby cat lying in my neighbour’s front garden. The cat was lying on its left side. I remember my mother telling me she used to eat cat back in China so I decided to bring the cat home for her to cook. I tried to move it but it was like a dead weight. So in the end I gave up. Instead, I ran home and said, “Mum, there’s a dead cat next door. I wanted to bring it home for you to cook.” My mother looked horrified.
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To this day Fred isn’t sure what triggered an abundance of caterpillars in the garden he took care of as part of his job as a cleaner-cum-caretaker of the building I used to live in. It had been raining of course but when he turned up to work one day, he found dozens and dozens of green and orange caterpillars in the garden. Fred wondered what to do. My neighbour saw the caterpillars and suggested drowning them by sticking them into a bucket full of water and dishwashing liquid. Fred wanted to ask the gardener about them so he kept the dead bodies in the bucket, locked up in his toolshed. The problem was, after a few days with no sign of the gardener (he turned up sporadically), the toolshed was overcome with the stench of rotting caterpillars, which Fred said smelt like rotting cabbage. Fred threw the caterpillars out.

Luckily enough for caterpillar phobic me, I was at work when all this happened so if it wasn’t for the fact my neighbour and Fred told me what had happened, I would have been blissfully unaware of the situation. This also attests to how good a job Fred did in getting rid of them. Each day I came home, there was not a caterpillar in sight in the garden. Fred said they were about four inches long and, because of their unusual colour combination, stood out like a sore thumb.

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Cat Theft, Duck Theft

March 11th 2008 21:00
I had grown up in a rough, predominantly white working class suburb where some of my neighbours advocated cruelty to animals. So it was no surprise when my pet ducks, Brown-o and White-o went missing.

We had always believed they had been stolen. They were smart ducks and knew the way home, although my sister and I normally had to round them up. This day, my mother decided to test them and see how long it would take for them to come home. She told us not to get the ducks. Hours passed and when we did go to get them, they weren’t at their usual playing spot. We asked everyone we could think of; a woman right at the very top of our street said she had seen them that afternoon. After that, the trail went cold.

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Bark Magazine

March 10th 2008 21:00
Bark is another magazine I wish was shipped here via sea so it is more affordable. And like Cat Fancy magazine, the only place that seems to stock it in Sydney is Borders. The covers are so cute, especially when they feature Labradors. I would say Labradors, Shar Peis and Pugs would be my favourite dogs. I think black pugs are so cute. I love their lithe squashed up faces. They’re like miniature black bull-dogs.

Check out how cute the dogs are on the cover of the Jan/Feb 2008 issue. Oh, I want to pick them up and cuddle them and say, “I love you, I love you!”

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Cat Fancy Magazine

March 9th 2008 21:00
One of my cat-hating friend’s dream is to become a CFA (Chartered Financial Analyst). The same initials also stand for the Cat Fanciers’ Association so I like to rile him up by telling him cat jokes.

Now onwards. I wish, I wish Cat Fancy magazine was widely available where I live (Sydney, Australia). I can only find it at one place which is Borders bookstore and it is air freight only, meaning it ends up costing me double the price I would pay if it came via sea. It’s such an interesting magazine and has beautiful photos of my four-legged whiskered friends. In the March 2008 issue is a story on cat cruelty and cat consumption in Korea.

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What freaks me out about caterpillars is how you can’t feel them on you. I remember my friends and I used to have lunch every day underneath this big tree at the front of our school. The tree was a haven for black caterpillars. On this particular day, one had worked its way up my leg before I noticed it. I jumped up, screaming like one of those housewives you see on TV who have encountered a mouse. What freaked me out was the ugliness and the indistinguishable way it had worked its way on my body. I could have been lying there completely covered in caterpillars and not noticed…

Another time I was sitting near a wall when a caterpillar crawled on the back of my shirt. Again, I was unaware of its progress; it took a school friend to tell me. I looked and started to panic. I asked my friend Sharon to get it off me but it turned out she was also a caterpillar phobic so she gave me a wide berth. Finally, one of Sharon’s friends grabbed a stick and brushed it off me.

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My Kitty Friend sits on my Lap

March 5th 2008 21:00
My Kitty Friend
I had a horrible day. I was having lunch with some friends who kept calling me a pushover as they don’t think I’m assertive enough. The problem was, to them, assertive meant being rude. I tried to explain to them that I liked choosing my battles carefully and couldn’t see the point in getting into arguments with strangers. To me, some things are too trivial to be worth fighting over. That doesn’t make me a wimp. As if to prove my point, a woman asked if she could sit down at the spare seat at our table. One of my friends said no and next thing you know, the two got into an argument and I buried my head in my hands as I hate it when people make scenes. “See, what does that achieve?” I asked. My friends ignored my question and went back into their you-are-a-pushover lecture.

So I was feeling down when I was coming home. I found the Grouchy Tuxedo Cat who hangs out on the stairs near my place. I gave him a couple of strokes before he miaowed and walked off. “He’s had a long day,” said a passer-by. So have I, I felt like saying.

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The Duck and the Maggots

March 4th 2008 21:00
Having had ducks for pets as a teenager, I don’t eat duck. I call it cannibalism and to me, it is as revolting as eating cat or dog. Of course I’m biased, having seen Brown-o and White-o grow up from tiny quackerlings you could fit in the size of your palm to the big ducks they were as adults.

But being Chinese, duck forms an integral part of my parents’ diet. You’ve probably seen them, those greasy brown ducks they have hanging from hooks in Chinese shops. My old man was a big fan of those ducks and insisted that whoever was buying them to make sure they had plenty of sauce on them.

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Maggot Mary

March 3rd 2008 21:00
My sister once lived in share accommodation. Like anyone else who has ever lived with another person, she was subject to other people’s hygiene, some flatmates being more hygienic than others. One flatmate, who I nicknamed Maggot Mary, certainly wasn’t the cleanest person around.

My sister is still not sure what started Mary’s maggot breeding program. My sister has this weird habit of looking up at the ceiling wherever she goes and one night she noticed small maggots crawling up the wall. My sister, who doesn’t share my fear of maggots, decided to investigate where they were coming from. She opened up the pantry but could see no rotting food. Further investigation led to her discovery of some old bottles of God-knows-what kept right on the top shelf, well out of my sister’s reach. Each flatmate was allocated a pantry shelf. The top shelf was Maggot Mary’s. My sister tried to talk to Mary many times about cleaning out her part of the pantry but Mary never did. Eventually the kitchen ceiling ended up dotted with dead maggots, which had turned black. “How can anyone live like this?” asked a colleague when I told him about it. Exactly my sentiments.

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Brown-o and White-o are Hungry

March 2nd 2008 21:00
One day, my sister Susan decided to postpone feeding our ducks to see what they would do. It didn’t take long for Brown-o, the most vocal one, to stand in our backyard and start quacking. “Quack, quack, quack!” she called over and over again. My sister and I watched, noticing how flat her stomach was. When the normally placid White-o joined in, we knew they were close to starvation. At the same time, my father lost his temper and told the ducks to shut up while Susan raced off to feed them.

Another time, I turned the ducks upside down and placed them on their backs to see what they’d do. Brown-o flipped onto her feet straight away and walked off while White-o couldn’t work out how to get back onto her feet. She lay there kicking her webbed feet in the air until I turned her over.

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