Q: In the cosmic scheme of things, this was relatively minor. But very annoying. I had met a woman. Actually, at 19, she was still a girl. I lived in Pittsburgh. She lived in London, Ontario. She was, to put it bluntly, hotter than hell. On top of that, she's one of the sweetest, nicest people you were ever going to meet. Needless to say, I was quite smitten, and quickly arranged to spend a week in London with her. When I showed up, she was wearing very interesting pajamas. At least for a few minutes. Unfortunately, my two cats, who had never spent a night in my home without me being there, were, less than impressed when I didn't show up by 5 PM the day I left, despite having arranged for one of my parents to come over each day to feed them and make sure they had water, etc. Playing with them was optional, but neither would show themselves during that week. Nothing looked amiss on the first floor to Mom or Dad. The food was eaten, the water, apparently drunk, etc. When I got home and went upstairs I found something quite different. There was a trail of toilette paper strewn all over the hallway. My pillow was in the bedroom door and shredded. My alarm clock was on the floor. The power cord had been pulled from the wall and chewed through. There were severaluhmmm "presents" in the middle of the bed, where they had pulled the sheets back. Some of them were still wet. I figure that trip cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of $1k to repair the damage. So I did what any 24 year old would do when faced with that situation. I cleaned up, went to bed, and went back to London a few weeks later. But I cat proofed the house first. (Yes, they still lived with me for another 12 years before passing away.) Like I said, she was wearing very interesting pajamas when I got to London. At least for a few minutes. According to the above context, answer the following question. how does the man feel about his cats?

OPTIONS:
- excited
- not enough information
- upset
- happy

A: upset

input: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- after telling Tommy what the shoes can do
- after refusing to do dog tricks
- after asking Tommy three questions Now, answer this question: "If you can answer three questions," the dog said, "you can wear the magic shoes." Tommy looked up and down the deserted street. "Did you ... say something?" "That's right. Didn't you hear me?" It was a gruff voice, with just a trace of an English accent, and it was definitely coming out of the dog. "You're a dog." In fact it was a huge, fat bulldog, with big flaps of skin hanging off the sides of its face. From where it sat, on the front steps of the abandoned motel, it looked Tommy straight in the eye. "That's correct," the dog said. Tommy stared hard at the dusty windows of the motel office. "This is a trick, right? There's a TV camera back there and you want to make me look stupid." "No tricks, Tommy. Just three questions." "C'mon," Tommy said. He deepened his voice. "Sit up." The dog stared at him. "Roll over. Play dead." "Cut the crap, Tommy. Do you want the shoes or not?" "Let me see 'em." The dog shifted its weight to one side, revealing a battered pair of red Converse All-Stars. "Yuck," Tommy said. "Those are gross." "Maybe," the dog said, "but they're magic." "What are the questions?" "Which of the following presidents died in office? Lincoln, McKinley, F.D.R.?" "C'mon. They all did. That's the same dumb question they use when they're trying to sell you a free portrait on the telephone." "Which weighs more, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead?" "They both weigh a pound. This is stupid. Next you're going to ask me who's buried in Grant's Tomb." The dog narrowed its eyes. "Have you done this before?" "Ulysses S. Grant," Tommy said. "Lemme see the shoes." They were just his size and felt pretty good, even though they were scuffed up and the metal things were gone out of the side vents. "I don't feel any different," Tommy said. "You need the shoes to look for the treasure," the dog said. "What treasure?" "When you're wearing the shoes, you can open the doors of the motel rooms." According to the above context, answer the following question. When did the dog show Tommy the shoes?
A:
output: after refusing to do dog tricks

Problem:OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- continues to pluck out grey hairs
- plucks out one or two hairs then stops the behavior
- stops plucking grey hairs soon after

This is a beauty myth that I have been wanting to bust for a while as I am surprised how many people actually believe it. I am quite vain so hate having visible grey hairs. Having naturally dark brown hair means that even a single grey hair is very noticeable. From the age of about 22 or 23 I discovered that I had about five grey hairs floating about. As soon as I could see them I'd pull them out. Then, a few months later when they were rearing their ugly heads again - pluck, out they'd come again! Up until I was about 27 or 28 I only had these 5 grey hairs, well that was all I could find anyway. Then from 28 onwards they have been inviting their friends and relatives to move in and I am slowly losing the plucking battle (side note: this increase in grey hairs at 28 was also the year that I got married...I wonder if their is any correlation between getting married and going grey??). Whenever I was having a conversation with someone about grey hairs and I'd mention that I pull mine out, they'd look at me horrified - 'you can't do that, seven more will grow back in its place' they would all warn me. Even my hairdresser was horrified that I plucked my grey hairs. One day when she was straightening my hair I could see a stray grey sticking up and it was driving me crazy. I asked her to pull it out and she refused saying that I'd end up with more if she pulled it out. I have never believed this old wives tale, mostly because for five years I kept plucking my greys yet they didn't increase in number. Plus it made no sense to me. Why would plucking greys cause more greys to grow when the same is not true for your coloured hair. Imagine if it were true - that would mean that the cure for baldness would be to pluck out your hair as each hair you pluck causes seven more to grow in its place - doesn't really make sense, does it? Or worse, each time you waxed your legs, seven hairs replaced each pulled one - what state would your legs be in now? According to the above context, answer the following question. After the end of the story, the writer probably:
****
A:
continues to pluck out grey hairs