I think I have figured out part of the human female’s current aversion to cooking. It’s not just the heat. It’s the fact that the kitchen is a horrifying place. Let us take a Tour of Terror.
There is the usual assortment of knives. You recall that the human female sliced off a chunk of one finger with a table knife earlier this year. I can tell you that there are much more lethal blades in here.
Look at this one:
Fifteen inches of razor sharp steel. I have it on good authority (the feline’s a blabber) that it sent the human female to the healers for stitches once. She has since learned not to prep meat for the crockpot first thing in the morning while she is still half asleep.
She won’t touch this next one at all anymore.
It’s something called a “diamond knife.” I don’t see any crystalline, carbonaceous encrustments, but it does have a wickedly serrated edge. I hear it took a couple bites out of the human female’s fingers when she used it to nick the hard coats of some morning-glory seeds before planting them. She swears it now has a taste for human blood and won’t go near it for love nor money. Who knew gardening could be so dangerous?
Volstagg’s Victuals! Look at this weird whatsit.
I’m glad its box comes with instructions, because I would never have guessed what it’s for. Personally, I’ve never felt an acute need for spiral vegetable garnishes, but it’s nice to know that, should I get a sudden yen for twirly cucumber twaddles, I can lay my hands on the proper tool.
And it’s not just the knives that have blades in here. There’s this thing.
The human female calls it a “pastry cutter.” Looks to me like it would make some pretty skimpy servings of pastry. Careful, dearest!
I have the feeling it could cut more than pastry…