Question

can I please get a teas reading passage for cats vs dogs, mustache, frankenstein passage please?

Answer 1

Cats vs Dogs

Which is the better pet a cat or dog ?Well which is the better fruit , an apple or an orange? Down through the years , those Hary little entities have been part of my life . I have predominantly fond thoughts about every one of them , except possibly smoky,who used to get lost and had to be bailed out of the pound all the time . You can't lump your pets together by their species any more than you can your friends by their professions.
But I will tell you one thing. A cat can't smile or won't a dog will smile . Romp with your dog for a while and he / see will beam . A dog will make eye contact , a cat will will too, but cats eyes, don't even look warm-blooded to me where as a dog's eyes look human except less guarded.

A dog will look at you as if to say , what do you want me to do for you? I will do anything for you . The dog is willing. A cat will do something for you . A cat will kill mouse , maybe lift the receiver and mew into the mouthpiece but not because you want him too. I say that from experience and observation. When a cat makes a eye contact with a person , a cats expression says so there is a little that a person can say in response to this expression. Dogs eyes twinkle , well - up ,express yearning .Taking care of cats is less of a problem than taking care of dogs and cats are less demanding emotionally ..

Mustache

At the last minute Annie couldn’t go. She was invaded by one of those twenty-four-hour flu bugs that sent her to bed with a fever, moaning about the fact that she’d also have to break her date with Handsome Harry Arnold that night. We call him Handsome Harry because he’s actually handsome, but he’s also a nice guy, cool, and he doesn’t treat me like Annie’s kid brother, which I am, but like a regular person. Anyway, I had to go to Lawnrest alone that afternoon. But first of all I had to stand inspection. My mother lined me up against the wall. She stood there like a one-man firing squad, which is kind of funny because she’s not like a man at all, she’s very feminine, and we have this great relationship — I mean, I feel as if she really likes me. I realize that sounds strange, but I know guys whose mothers love them and cook special stuff for them and worry about them and all but there’s something missing in their relationship.

Anyway. She frowned and started the routine.

“That hair,” she said. Then admitted: “Well, at least you combed it.”

I sighed. I have discovered that it’s better to sigh than argue.  

https://www.commonlit.org/en/texts/the-moustache

Frankenstein

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein begat another monster—the frequently cartooned, green-skinned Frankenstein of popular culture who roams the streets on Halloween in the company of mummies and skeletons. In the novel, the monster is nameless, and Victor Frankenstein is the creature’s creator, an earnestly romantic, idealistic, and well-educated young gentleman whose studies in “natural philosophy” (p. 40) and chemistry evolve from “a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of nature” (p. 41). However, it is a tribute to the power of Shelley’s work—a masterpiece—that it has spawned a parody, no matter how skewed, much as Frankenstein’s creation parodies the divine creation of Adam.

There is some logic, too, in the popular tendency to conflate the monster and his creator under the name of “Frankenstein.” As the novel progresses, Frankenstein and his monster vie for the role of protagonist. We are predisposed to identify with Frankenstein, whose character is admired by his virtuous friends and family and even by the ship captain who rescues him, deranged by his quest for vengeance, from the ice floe. He is a human being, after all. However, despite his philanthropic ambition to “banish disease from the human frame and render man invulnerable to any but a violent death” (p. 42), Frankenstein becomes enmeshed in a loathsome pursuit that causes him to destroy his own health and shun his “fellow-creatures as if…guilty of a crime” (p. 57). His irresponsibility causes the death of those he loves most, and he falls under the control of his own creation.

The monster exhibits a similar kind of duality, arousing sympathy as well as horror in all who hear his tale. He demands our compassion to the extent that we recognize ourselves in his existential loneliness. Rejected by his creator and utterly alone, he learns what he can of human nature by eavesdropping on a family of cottage dwellers, and he educates himself by reading a few carefully selected titles that have fortuitously fallen across his path, among them Paradise Lost. “Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come?” (p. 131), he asks himself. Like Milton’s Satan, who almost inadvertently becomes the compelling protagonist of Paradise Lost, the monster has much to recommend him.

Despite his criminal acts, the monster’s self-consciousness and his ability to educate himself raise the question of what it means to be human. It is difficult to think of the monster as anything less than human in his plea for understanding from Frankenstein: “Believe me, Frankenstein: I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity; but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow-creatures, who owe me nothing? they spurn and hate me” (p. 103). When his anonymous acts of kindness toward the cottage dwellers are repaid with baseless hatred, we have to wonder whether it is the world he inhabits, as opposed to something innate, that causes him to commit atrocities. Nonetheless, he retains a conscience and an intense longing for another kind of existence.

By their own accounts, both Frankenstein and the monster begin with benevolent intentions and become murderers. The monster may seem more sympathetic because he is by nature an outsider, whereas Frankenstein deliberately removes himself from human society. When Frankenstein first becomes engrossed in his efforts to create life, collecting materials from the dissecting room and slaughterhouse, he breaks his ties with friends and family, becoming increasingly isolated. His father reprimands him for this, prompting Frankenstein to ask himself what his single-minded quest for knowledge has cost him, and whether or not it is morally justifiable. Looking back, he concludes that it is not, contrary to his belief at the time: “if no man allowed any pursuit whatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic affections, Greece had not been enslaved; Caesar would have spared his country; America would have been discovered more gradually; and the empires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed” (p. 56). Passages such as this one suggest the possibility that Shelley is writing about the potentially disastrous consequences of not only human ambition, but also a specific kind of masculine ambition. The point of view here may be that of a nineteenth-century woman offering a feminist critique of history.

Far more than the simple ghost story a teenaged Shelley set out to write, Frankenstein borrows elements of Gothic horror, anticipates science fiction, and asks enduring questions about human nature and the relationship between God and man. Modern man is the monster, estranged from his creator—sometimes believing his own origins to be meaningless and accidental, and full of rage at the conditions of his existence. Modern man is also Frankenstein, likewise estranged from his creator—usurping the powers of God and irresponsibly tinkering with nature, full of benign purpose and malignant results.Frankenstein is both a criticism of humanity, especially of the human notions of technical progress, science, and enlightenment, and a deeply humanistic work full of sympathy for the human condition.