The dangers of the PMS bitch

Females around the world suffer from it. Men around the world suffer because of it (at least if you ask them). PMS is like passive smoking. Not only does it harm the smokers, but those around them as well.

I am one of all those people suffering from it directly. I'm not going to go into much detail about it. Suffice to say I manage to check all the boxes along the long list of symptoms of PMS. It is a dangerous, dangerous thing, this PMS business.

For example:

I am usually a rather calm driver, at the most I can display certain aspects of passive aggressiveness (displayed through a few choice words involving cereal boxes and driver's licenses or the occasional angry sigh). However, the day before yesterday I transformed, from one minute to the next, into the horrifying PMS bitch. I didn't realise it at the time, of course, since I was too wrapped up in thinking about ramming my car into the back bumper of the idiot in front of me who seemed to have trouble finding the gas pedal on their car (yes, surprise surprise, all cars normally DO have a gas pedal). I would've done it if my car hadn't consisted of up to 95% of plastic junk. Knowing this, however, I managed to limit myself to staring hard into their rear view mirror while frowning and sending evil, evil thoughts their way. I do have to confess I also flashed my lights at them at one point and was *this* close to sound my horn as well. Personally I hate it when someone does that to me. But, come on!, they were driving 50 km/h on a 70 km/h road...

In order to reduce stress levels and traffic incidents I suggest putting a sign on every car driven by a woman suffering from PMS. That way the other poor souls on the roads will at least have a chance to avoid the dangers for themselves, their cars, their ancestors and descendants as well as the authority issuing their driver's license.

As for the times off the roads...

I believe that a lot of PMS-induced cases of domestic abuse, most often verbal and/or emotional but sometimes involving normally stationary objects suddenly becoming airborne or doors suffering damage through blunt force trauma, can be prevented if the passive victim (read: the other, most often male, part of a relationship) of PMS would keep a few things in mind:

1. Do not do anything that might aggravate the PMS bitch. Avoid eye contact, try to subtly stall all attempts at serious discussions about your relationship, or other volatile subjects, until a more opportune time.

2. Do not draw parallels between that awful bout of flu you had last year and your significant other's PMS. Do not talk about your awful day at work or other problems you might have suffered. Believe me, nothing you've suffered this day will be anywhere near what the PMS bitch will feel like she's suffered.

3. Do not forget to pick up your stuff from the floor/chairs/tables or anywhere else where you might have thrown/dropped them. You do not want to know what happens if the PMS bitch comes home to a messy house and realises she'll be the one who'll have to clean it up.

4. Do not come between the PMS bitch and her choice of a substitute for Valium (e.g chocolate, candy, cookies etc.). And for GOD'S SAKE do not eat that last cookie or ice cream you found in the kitchen. You will not like the consequences.

5. Use this time to show your softer side. A surprise gift (chocolate or flowers for example) is always nice. But also more mundane displays of affection are good. This is your chance to prove that a real man really knows how to handle a vacuum cleaner or the dish washer.

If you've planned on cooking a nice, romantic dinner for your significant other to when she gets home from a tough day, this is the time.

And, yes, you have to do the dishes and the clean-up immediately, at the latest, after you've finished dinner and the PMS bitch has relocated to the comfortable couch or chair in front of the TV, swept into a warm blanket that you've put around her shoulders, with a nice cup of warm tea or chocolate in her hand (and the remote control within easy reach).

And no, a romantic dinner doesn't automatically end with hot gorilla sex... just so you know what you shouldn't expect.

And here are some pictures of the whole bag of sweetness I found yesterday:

Where is journalism headed?

I've finally finished coding the articles for my thesis. Only x amount of weeks too late (the deadline for the thesis as a whole is on Thursday).

I had some very annoying and frustrating revelations while doing this. A part of the articles for my thesis are supposed to come from the web versions of two Swedish newspapers. So far so good.

The problem is that while one of them are good at archiving their old articles, the other seems to be happily deleting old articles and leaving only those that make them look good. Not to mention the fact that articles on the web (as opposed to those that go into print) can be edited and changed well after their newsworthiness has disappeared.

Which means that for me, who are looking for problems with language and grammar, the results of my coding of those articles are haphazard at best.

I happen to know that the latter of the two newspapers is in fact quite lousy where language and grammar is concerned... to the point that I've, on several occasions while reading articles their reporters have written, found myself with an almost desperately urgent need to track down the reporters, grab them by the hair and stuff some grammar books and books on proper writing (and spelling) into various orifices of their body. I'm sure they've had a field day going back and correcting stuff that most likely looked like shit in the original version.

Indeed, the development of web publishing has got to be their greatest joy ever, since then they can gloss over their horrid mistakes and the readers, unless they've been smart and taken screen shots of the original version, will be none the wiser. Oh joy, a way for the media to pretend they're above such menial faults such as bad spelling or lack of facts. After all, if the original text isn't there, or has been exchanged for a corrected version..., no one can call them on their mistakes and they can carry on befouling (yeah, sorry for using such a word) the language, which is already fighting for its every breath.

It makes me wonder why on earth it's so hard for us fresh journalists (and journalism students) to get a foot into the media. Are they happier keeping blasé oldies just because they seem to have "experience" (which, by the way, is quite a loose word nowadays concerning the speed of the changes in the world) instead of bringing in fresh blood?

What does it say for a newspaper's reputation that they rather keep reporters that are illiterate, or seriously won't give a shit about how the readers see their articles, than take in fresh ones with new points of views and energy?

It makes me so frustrated. And all the while this particular newspaper I'm thinking of claims to have one of the best web-editions in Sweden, of being in the forefront of web journalism. They conveniently choose to disregard the fact that their archive system is a mess, which makes it nearly impossible to actually find anything, or that the knowledge of proper spelling and grammar among their journalists could easily be breached by a grade school kid.

I could go on for hours about this, although hopefully with a bit more... detail and language variation, but my head is about to blow up due to annoyance, stress and sheer resignation.

Where is the world headed when people in the media who, at least in my opinion, should set a certain standard where writing and language is concerned, set such bad examples? It's like they're callously saying: "Well, the world's a bitch anyway, and you morons wouldn't know what was right or wrong even if we spelled it out for you, so fuck off!"

My obsession

I have a confession to make... I'm a wannabe fag hag. I haven't got any gay friends (far as I know) but wouldn't mind it. To be honest, a more correct way of describing me would rather be the Japanese term fujoshi (which basically means a woman who likes to read about gay relationships and the like).

Now some people in my circle of friends already knew this from way back, some even share my interest with a vengeance.

However, I just had to say it now since I'm about to throw myself into a glowing array of praise for an author who's just managed to ramp up my obsession another fifteen notches or so.

I'm talking about an author by the name of Jet Mykles. She writes erotic novels and short stories, with both m/f and m/m pairings. I've read as many of her works as I've been able to get, from both pairing categories.

My obsession with her works began slowly with some short stories in some Boys' Love (BL) anthologies. And then came the Heaven Sent series...

It's about the members of a rock band called Heaven Sent. Each book in the series is about one of the members and their relationships.

The first book, Heaven, gives us the story of Johnnie, the sultry vocalist of the band. He seems to be a true go-getter. He sees something he wants, he makes damn sure to get it... and make sure whatever he's got will be more than happy to be his. There is a short story, Pretty Red Ribbon, attached to it as well.

However, it was the second book, Purgatory, that really caught me. I do admit I was a bit partial of course since I have a certain weakness for rock bassists and guitarists. Don't ask me why because I simply can't explain, it's an instinct I think. Anyway, Purgatory deals with the band's bassist, Lucas, and his trials and tribulations when trying to right a stupid youthful mistake. He seems to have an excessive amount of self-confidence and isn't afraid to display it. And while his intended target might not be too happy about it along the road, self-confidence is often the way to success. So dear, sexy Lucas does it his way. As with Heaven (and the following books in the series) there is a short after the story-story, Sexy Spring Surprise, attached to this one as well.

The third book, Hell, deals with the guitarist, Brent, and his conflicting emotions when a new member, the keyboardist Hell, joins the band. The image I got of Brent from the first two books are here deliciously shattered to reveal some a very intriguing and unexpected side of his personality. The after the story story is called Feisty Little Firecracker, which seems to be a perfect title to describe not only the relationship created in the main story but also the characters.

The story of the last member of the band, the surrounded by gay relationships-drummer Darien, is the subject for the fourth book (not counting the various after the story-stories), Faith. Darien is open and likeable. While he himself sticks to women, in fact even marries one, he fully supports his bandmates' choices of partners, regardless of genders. When his marriage doesn't work out exactly the way he'd thought it would, however, Darien himself suddenly has cause to wonder exactly what it is that his bandmates have found and he hasn't. Enter the romantic interest and a very amusing and refreshingly open-minded Darien decides to take the other for a wild spin. The after-story is called Sly Spectral Trick and is delightfully amusing.

There have been two other stories in this series published after the ones mentioned above.

One is called Genesis. Brent, who more or less lives for his music and never is happier than when he can stand on stage with his guitar, gets into an accident just before a big gig and a replacement has to be brought in. While the replacement is good, maybe he is too good? Brent has to watch someone else stand in his spot on the stage. At the same time Lucas is being more or less stalked by his female co-actress from a movie he'd been cast in, which doesn't much please his sassy partner. Hell has got his hands full with trying to make sure his partner doesn't break down. And Darien, still quite new to his relationship with his partner, is worrying about the re-appearance of his partner's former lover. And on top of all this they all have the gig to worry about. In the midst of all this Johnnie and his partner, now his spouse, seem wonderfully stable and loving most of the time and Johnnie seems to take most things in stride.

The last story, Revelations, is on my to-read-list so I haven't got much to say about it as of yet. But if it's in any way alike the previous ones I'll probably read it from page one to end way too late into the night.

So, yeah, Jet Mykles certainly has got something. She creates characters and stories that catches the reader's interest... and keeps it way after the story itself has been read and finished. The fact that this lovely author has also made BL fanfics about the characters of the Japanese manga/anime Weiss Kreuz, where the original story itself was full of BL vibes, of course only served to make me love this author even more.

I recommend reading her works. Aside from those mentioned above there are many other nice stories (Tech support is one of my personal favourites for example) with m/m pairings.

If you prefer to read stories with m/f pairings, or just want a soft introduction to some m/m action, I recommend the Dark Elves- or the Leashed-series. I could write a lot about those as well but I need to get back to fuelling up my own obsession. The freebies at Jet Mykles's own homepage, www.jetmykles.com, is, after all, calling to me.

Alice in Wonderland 3D

So, yesterday I went to see Tim Burton's "Alice in Wonderland" in 3D.

Now, Tim Burton happens to be one of my favourite directors. And the fact that Johnny Depp was among the cast for the movie seemed like a big plus. So, naturally, my expectations were quite high.

Which is why it pains me to have to write this.

Alice in Wonderland is a story with great potential for some wicked effects. Tim Burton with his skill for creating fascinating and engaging movies should have been home free with this type of story. Sadly I must say that I was disappointed.

The story felt fragmented. They were referring to events that never really got proper explanations, leaving the audience in the dark about what they were referring to. The story lacked depth and seemed to move too quickly, glossing over a lot of details that should've been present in order to create an engaging movie.

Alice felt bland and, to be honest, quite vapid. A sullen kid running from everything and everyone, completely convinced her way was the right way. Her sudden change in attitude towards the end of the movie felt rushed and didn't quite manage to bring me along into the change. It was a total 180 between one scene and the other where Alice's attitude was concerned. I'm not sure if it was the actress who didn't manage to portray Alice correctly or if it was the script but Alice felt shallow and stiff. Even though I know I shouldn't I still have to draw some parallels to Orlando Bloom's and Keira Knightley's in my opinion rather lousy character portrayal in Pirates of the Caribbean. The acting simply failed to engage me and lacked emotional depth.

Johnny Depp then. I love his acting skills and frequently claim I can't recall a single movie in which I didn't think he was brilliant. It seems I might have to change that claim now. While he did manage to portray the madness of the Hatter it also felt shallow and fragmented. There wasn't any depth in the feelings of the Hatter and it seemed like they had focused too much on physical oddness and costume rather than the deeper and darker sides of the Hatter. Johnny Depp is usually quite good at capturing and portraying those depths in his characters which leads me to think that the script he had to work with might not have given him the chance to do so with the Hatter. It was a disappointment.

As for the rest of the cast... While the small quirks of the White Queen had their amusing aspects and while she was indeed gorgeous, the rest of the characters felt just as shallow and fragmented as Alice and Hatter.

The Red Queen and her Knight Stayne were sadly pathetic. The Red Queen's fickleness and cold nature was handled badly, making me feel sorry for the actress (Helena Bonham-Carter) who had to play the character. She's usually one of my favourite actresses but her skills, like Depp's, wasn't enough this time. As for Stayne... I have no words to describe how utterly useless he was. Truly... no words.

The one character that was somewhat engaging was the Cheshire Cat. It only bugged me that the Swedish subtitles wrote "Chessur" instead of Cheshire. I think it would've been nice if they'd managed to incorporate more of the traits found in the Cheshire cat in the other characters as well. And since the Cheshire cat was animated in such a way he truly shone in 3D.

As it was now it felt like Tim Burton and his crew hadn't been able to decide whether to try and keep a somewhat linear and chronological story or to make it as confusing (and amusing) as the original story was. In either case, I'm sad to say that in my opinion, they failed.

The 3D aspects of the movie then. I figure it's hard to make a good 3D-movie with live actors since you can't tweak and turn the effects the same way with real actors as you could with completely animated ones. While it was nice with the added feel of depth in the scenery, the 3D-effects were muted and rather meaningless most of the time. This can, of course, be attributed to the fact that the screen in the salon we watched the movie in wasn't big enough to give that feeling of being inside the world we were watching. The edges of the screen were simply too visible.

There are probably many more reasons why I couldn't really find it in myself to see the movie as anything more than a somewhat pleasant distraction for an evening. However, right now I just can't bear to analyse it beyond what I already have.

So, for those who just want to watch a movie with a fantasy theme and some nice scenery 3D effects I guess Alice in Wonderland 3D can be nice. If you're looking for a deeper story and character portrayal, however, I personally suggest you look elsewhere.

Technology and Cat = a love/hate relationship since 1996

So, instead of doing what I should be doing - which is writing on my thesis and maybe hole myself up in the vaults of the university library to look through microfilms - I've now gotten around to working on making my old laptop into a laptop purely for design purposes.

Since this laptop is royally screwing my design programs over and is also giving my design tablet tics I decided to say "fuck it" and move the designs back to my old semi-trusty servant. Of course I won't trust it to be able to handle internet or the likes since last time I tried the bastard started lagging like crazy. Besides, since I accidentally gave the keyboard a nice shower of red wine it's completely destroyed and I have to use an external for it, which doesn't exactly encourage creating longer text segments. But at least the touchpad works so I won't have to deprive my new one of the wireless mouse.

Anyway, I'm gonna wipe the old fucker clean and then only install the bare necessities (of which firefox and other internet-related items will not be a part). Since it's set up just next to this one I can still surf the 'net and listen to Spotify so I won't have to choose between the two. Which is good, since I'd probably go mad if I couldn't use the internet for a longer period of time.

Of course, my faithful external HDD will have to serve as the go-between when I find something (read: brushes) on the net that I deem would be beneficial for my designs.

Today will, in other words, be spent cursing over the stupid idiot who came up with the sick idea to create a shitty OS like Windows Vista. It takes ages for the fucker to install and once it's on the hard drive... The shit really hits the fan.

I was complaining about my laptop running so slowly a few weeks back and a very insightful and intelligent friend casually reminded me that it really couldn't be helped since I have a virus on my computer called Vista. Amen to that.
Seriously, Vista has got to be the biggest and worst joke since the Windows systems were even invented (which in itself was the beginning of the end in my opinion).

I just thought I'd write it out here since there most likely will be some serious ranting in the close future. And some of it might very well end up in this blog.

Boys, boys, boys...

So last night I let my best friend talk me into going to one of the clubs on campus, completely disregarding the fact that I actually haven't got money to spend on such things.

Anyway, she had never been to that club while it used to be my favourite place back when I went out more frequently. So I assured her that it would be fun, and even if it wasn't the drinks are cheap there. Well, we got there about ten minutes after they'd opened for the evening. My first thought when we got in was: "What epidemic has wiped out all the slightly normal people on campus?". It was the first weekend after payday (here in Sweden we have this thing where we can take out special student loans and also get some student grant, enabling us to live... sorta... without having to work full-time too unless we want to) and usually the clubs are teeming with people these weekends.

However, last night we felt quite alone in the world with only a handful of others (who seemed quite eccentric), not counting the bartenders, in the place. So we sat there, nursing our beers and wondering what the hell was going on while talking about checking some of the other places on campus.

Long story short we remained at this place and about an hour after our arrival more people started appearing and suddenly the place was rather full (with a lot of people who seem to think that dancing is a synonym for either wobbling back and forth in one place or doing some hardcore groping). As is wont to happen in a club full of drunk and desperate people we were pretty soon joined by some guy and we spent the evening talking and drinking more than we should, as usual.

But, as always after a night at the club, I get to thinking about guys. For so long one's heard the guys complain about how girls are always trying to drag them into a relationship after having sex with them. Which is quite a silly and outdated statement.

It seems like the scale has weighed over to the other side, because far as I've noticed it's the other way around these days. Guys are the ones who seem to think that the girl will be so amazed at their fantastic skills in bed (or conversational skills... who knows?) that they'll fall to the guy's feet and jump at the slightest possibility of a relationship afterwards. And the girls, on the other hand, shake their heads, wonder why they didn't register that the guy's an idiot the night before, take a few painkillers and decide if he was good in bed or not. And then they move on.

Since when did the good old-fashioned one-night-stand become synonymous with "Sure, I was drunk and horny yesterday and you were fair enough in bed so let's start dating and live happily ever after"? Why can't a girl just want to try out a guy she met at the club and then be allowed to continue on with her life without him dogging her about meeting again and trying to sell his good points to her? Unless I've missed something really crucial it's been a long time since having sex with a guy means immediate attachment and "together ever after" here in Sweden.

And the worst thing is that guys don't seem to realise how pathetic they are in thinking that more or less nagging the girl about it the day after, and not getting the hint to get dressed and get the hell out, will clinch the relationship deal.

One of the most stupid things a guy can do the morning after is to start telling a (hungover and newly awoken) woman about how great he is and how she deserves the best... which, naturally, is him. If he's got any say in the matter that is, which of course he always has since he's God's gift to women. The fact that if he had been he probably wouldn't have to do such a pathetically desperate thing in the first place doesn't even seem to register in his mind.

In a way I can't help but feel sorry for such guys but at the same time that old mantra "Girls always think having sex once means a relationship" rings in my head and I sit back to shake my head and smile in patronising pity.

Guys often do amaze me... with their complete lack of self-reflection and insight. Which part of "don't call me, I'll call you" can't they understand? Just wondering. After all, they're the ones who claim to have invented the expression in the first place.

Håll katten inne! (rant in Swedish)

Det finns inget jag föraktar mer än folk som inte tar hand om djur på absolut bästa sätt (sett från djurets behov). Djuren kan inte rätt ut säga åt oss vad de behöver (och ärligt talat så även om de skulle haft det finns det fortfarande skitstövlar som med vett och vilje skulle skada djuren). Djur är oskyldiga. De har aldrig bett oss att tämja dem, att ha dem i våra hem och vår vardag. Det var helt människans val att göra dem till husdjur. De kan inte säga åt oss klart och tydligt när vi inte ger dem vad de behöver, när de har ont eller mår dåligt. Det är där vårt ansvar, som de som tog djurens anfäder från det vilda och började hålla dem som husdjur i våra grottor och whatnot, ligger.

Vi måste vara tillräckligt uppmärksamma för att kunna se hur våra djur mår.
Vi måste vara tillräckligt intelligenta och empatiska för att ge våra djur de absolut bästa förutsättningarna.
Vi måste inse att djuren, hur söta och gosedjursaktiga de än kan verka, är levande varelser som kan känna smärta, rädsla, lycka och allt däremellan. De kan bli hungriga, törstiga, de kan frysa, de kan få värmeslag. Ja, egentligen är väl det enda som skiljer oss från våra husdjur det faktum att vi råkar vara den art som var girigast, som tog för sig mer än vad vi kanske egentligen borde ha gjort. Vi har våra stora städer, vi har våra språk och vår teknik... Men inget av detta gör oss bättre än djuren, det ger oss inte rätt att behandla djur som mindre värda eller få för oss att de inte kan känna saker precis som vi.

Och vi har absolut ingen rätt att tro att lilla "Misse" kan klara sig helt på egen hand i en värld dominerad av människor, bilar och allt färre naturliga bytesdjur. "Misses" anfäder må ha klarat sig i det vilda, innan människorna började lägga asfalt, hugga ner skogen, bygga hus och allt möjligt annat som tog ifrån dem deras naturliga bomarker och bytesdjur. Men "Misse" är lika mycket en produkt av dagens människostyrda verklighet som ett människobarn.

"Misse" må kunna fånga möss något smidigare än en människobebis men var ska "Misse" hitta mössen nuförtiden? Och kunna äta dem utan att behöva dö en plågsam död på grund av förgiftning?

Precis som människobarn har dagens domesticerade (tama) djur liten chans att klara sig helt på egen hand i det "vilda". Och trots det verkar vi människor tar för givet att det gör ju inget om lilla "Misse" är utekatt mitt i ett bostadsområde omgivet av bilvägar, asfalterat och bebyggt både högt, lågt och brett. "Misse" klarar sig, det är ju ett djur, trots allt *tung sarkasm*.

Jag har inget emot att man har utekatter... så länge man bor så pass bra till att katten inte riskerar att bli påkörd så fort den sticker nosen utanför dörren. Så länge den har trygga skrymslen att söka skydd i när det är dåligt väder. Och framför allt så länge man är uppmärksam på när katten vill/behöver komma in, den har fräscht vatten och bra mat (en mus som den fångat räcker inte) och en varm plats inomhus när den behöver det.

Nu undrar ni kanske varför jag helt plötsligt väljer att skriva om detta? Ja, det beror på många orsaker.

Dels beror det på en av mina egan katters historia. Min lilla kisse, 3 år i år, kom till mig för ca 2 år sedan via Djurskyddet. Hon hade hittats övergiven i ett sommarstugeområde. Mest troligt var hon en av de otaliga stackars katter som hamnat hos okunniga människor som tänkte att "en liten katt för barnen att leka med i sommar är väl gulligt". Och när sommaren var över och familjen åkte hem till "verkligheten" ryckte de säkert bara på axlarna och tänkte: "Hon klarar sig själv. Hon är ju en katt". Och lilla Frida fick finna sig i att stå utelåst från en tom och mörk sommarstuga utan en aning om var hennes familj hade tagit vägen. Och hösten tog vid och sen kom vintern. Där var den lilla katten, mest troligt knappt några månader gammal, ensam, övergiven och tvingad att försöka klara sig. Hon överlevde vintern, hur vet jag inte och jag tror mitt hjärta skulle brista om jag faktiskt fick veta allt hon fått gå igenom. Hennes familj hade uppenbarligen ingen koll på katter och hon var okastrerad så, som brukar ske i naturen, den lilla katten, knappt mer än en kattunge själv, blev dräktig. Jag vet heller inte hur Djurskyddet hittade henne eller hur hon kom till dem men jag är än idag så oerhört tacksam för att de tog in henne.

När hon kom till mig såg hon inte ut att vara ens ett år gammal, jag hade gissat på knappt 6 månader om det inte varit för att hon uppenbarligen haft en kull ungar redan, och skyggade undan för ens hand när man ville klappa henne. Hennes beteende var som en kattunges. Hon hade inte lärt sig att tvätta sig ordentligt och hon förstod in hur hårt hon kunde bitas, jag vet än idag inte hur mycket av hennes bitande som var lek och vad som var försvar.

Idag är hon världens goaste lilla misse som älskar att hänga över min axel. Idag är hon också innekatt då jag inte bor på ett ställe där jag med gott samvete skulle våga låta henne springa lös.

En annan orsak till detta utbrott är något som hände nu inatt. Jag hade just börjat somna in då jag hör ett ynkligt litet jamande utanför fönstret. Jag kikar ut och där står en stackars katt och tittar bedjande upp på mig. Det är -20 grader och djupsnö ute, klockan är 4 på morgonen och alla sover för fullt. Det enda som står öppet där katten kan söka skydd är soprummet, som är totalt utkylt. Även om den är törstig är allt fruset, är den hungrig finns inget att äta och fryser den finns ingenstans att söka skydd. Katten har ett halsband så uppenbarligen är det nån som "äger" den. Och trots det står den här utanför mitt fönster och jamar... och jamar. Och det finns inget jag kan göra. Jag kan inte bara släppa in den till mig. Jag har två egna katter som skulle bli måttligt roade av att få gäster, milt sagt. Och utan att veta var katten egentligen hör hemma kan jag heller inte gå och knacka på ägarnas dörr och be dem att skaffa lite vett eller lämna bort katten till någon som faktiskt fattar att utomhus, mitt i natten i -20 graders kyla, inte är rätta stället för en katt.

Jag undrar bara...

Varför ska djuren behöva lida för att vi människor är själviska idioter?!