I was yesterday evening at the Pen and Wig. At some point I ended up listening to a conversation by a biologist that I had to write down. It was by far better than the one about blokes from some island in the Pacific coming over to London to look for some godlike English prince. This is her story:
My cat was still a kitten when it got into heat. That's very early. In a discussion in a party a vet friend told me that cats are stimulated ovulators. That means that physical stimulation makes them ovulate, even if it's before the time. And in heat, my kitten would display to all males. Display by a female cat involves lingering around, exposing the back and lifting the tale, spraying gently, etc. At some point, because nobody in the party could find a pencil, the vet decided to stimulate the cat with the only thing that could be found: a matchstick. Figure it out. You have this two guys, a veterinarian and a normal bloke that's allergic to cats. One of them holds and immobilises the cat and the second sticks a matchstick in its vagina. Probably scared, or maybe absolutely freaked out (how would you feel?) the kitten produces a huge spray of liquid. The allergic guy suddenly is all soaked and freaked out. And in the room -in the middle of a party- you have a cat running with a matchstick hanging out of her bottoms. Later, the matchstick was retrieved.
In the meanwhile I was chatting with a guy in the middle of a (complicated) divorce in the patio. My
Picture: Run Zumi! Run like the wind! by Malingering.