In the event of mice falling from the sky, we were told to buy cats. If the reverse happened, then we were to buy dogs. There was, however, no plan to cater for a storm of poodles. They fell like balls of cotton wool with teeth, yapping and snapping, licking and lapping. The populace fled. The police grew overwhelmed. Society crumbled. In ever-deepening streams of white and pink and blue, those most decorative of dogs took over. What did I do, you ask? What else was there to do? I opened a grooming parlour.