In ur postal-slot

All I can figure from this story is this couple has a standard mail-delivery slot in their door, and little Georgi waited there day after day to get a little cat-scratch-postman action going on.

When Sarah and Ben Goddard’s mail delivery dried up to a trickle, the couple smelt a rat.

But Goddards would have been better pointing the finger of suspicion at their pet cat Georgi, after it emerged a succession of attacks by the vicious moggy left the postman too scared to deliver the mail.

. . .

“When I asked if he [the post-man] had anything for us he said he wasn’t delivering to us any more because he had been scratched.

Mystery solved. Except the post-man was worried about being attacked by a dog. Here’s the kicker to me, though. The problem started months ago. After questioning the carrier about their lack of mail just recently:

The next day, the letter from local delivery office manager Steve Brown arrived with backdated mail.

It warned Mrs Goddard and her 27-year-old husband, a land surveyor: “Animal attacks are a major cause of injury to Royal Mail staff.

“I am writing to you to inform you that if your cat is not kept under control then we will be suspending the delivery of mail to your address.”

Nothing like prompt notification of a problem, is there? Although I suppose the above quote could mean that their notification letter was dated sometime in the past, meaning the couple never received it because it was to be delivered via the post-man who wasn’t delivering mail to them. Hmmmmm.  Those wacky Brits!

Oh, yeah – one other thing: I’d hit it. (via Fark)

How It’s Made – Chicks

Just watched an episode of How It’s Made (truly one of the greatest television programs ever), and saw this amazingly cool segment on how chicken farming chicks are brought about.

Oddly, the version we watched had the exact same narration, only it was performed by a male announcer.  Anyway, this is interesting and funny at the same time.  The handling of the chicks is funny, and makes me think the little birds are wondering “Dude, what the fuck?” through much of the process.