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todayiamadaisyI am being haunted by an ad for a particular item of clothing, and I don’t know what I’ve done to make the internet think I would be interested in it. I’ve never seen it before. I’ve never been on that website. I’ve never even imagined such a thing and wished it into being. And yet, there it is, following me to the weather website and other people’s LJ entries and anywhere else that has targeted ads.
And it’s HIDEOUS. It’s the worst garment in existence. Take a deep breath, psyche yourself up, and tell me I'm wrong:
I can't even click to find out how much it costs (too much, would be my guess), because then the internet would be convinced I'm interested in it and it would follow me forever.
I don’t want this to become the All Tojo, All The Time network, but this week: it's been a mixed bag. I came home from work on Thursday to find an old plastic garden crate, turned on its side and padded with an old blanket, by the back door. "He was sitting in the garden in the rain," said my mother. "Under the tree, but he was still getting wet. So I found this and made him a shelter." Did he like it? "No, he ran away." An hour later, she called out, “Look, look!” So I look, looked, and there he was, sniffing the box and tentatively putting a paw on the blanket. It must have been acceptable, because he stepped in it and slept there for several hours. It was lovely to see him curled up, rather than hunched. He's been in it quite often since.
On the other hand, he is not eating today. He seems to have a sniffly nose and a gurgly chest, so maybe that's the problem? But he isn't even looking for food, just napping in the sun, seemingly quite comfortable. We'll see how he is tomorrow and if he's still not eating we might have to call the visiting vet. So that will be fun. Much as I like the idea of Tojo living in the garden forever, I'm preparing myself for this not to have a happy ending.
We have also had to make a fuss of Alistair. He doesn't actively object to Tojo, but he doesn't like other cats terribly much and he is a bit of a comfort eater when stressed. He has been doing a lot of knee-sitting, slightly sulky because no-one will give him extra biscuits. Poor lamb.
Yesterday was the Victorian state government election. Voting, whoo! While I was waiting to vote, there was a woman in the queue behind me, whining loudly, "Oh, they've got the go-slows, how long has it been" several times, which, yes, I've been in faster queues, but there are some places where people risk their lives to vote, so it won't kill you to wait ten minutes, lady. The primary school even had a cake stall out the front, so she could have filled in time by eating a lamington. Which would have had the bonus effect of rendering her unable to whine, so... win-win.
And it’s HIDEOUS. It’s the worst garment in existence. Take a deep breath, psyche yourself up, and tell me I'm wrong:
I can't even click to find out how much it costs (too much, would be my guess), because then the internet would be convinced I'm interested in it and it would follow me forever.
I don’t want this to become the All Tojo, All The Time network, but this week: it's been a mixed bag. I came home from work on Thursday to find an old plastic garden crate, turned on its side and padded with an old blanket, by the back door. "He was sitting in the garden in the rain," said my mother. "Under the tree, but he was still getting wet. So I found this and made him a shelter." Did he like it? "No, he ran away." An hour later, she called out, “Look, look!” So I look, looked, and there he was, sniffing the box and tentatively putting a paw on the blanket. It must have been acceptable, because he stepped in it and slept there for several hours. It was lovely to see him curled up, rather than hunched. He's been in it quite often since.
On the other hand, he is not eating today. He seems to have a sniffly nose and a gurgly chest, so maybe that's the problem? But he isn't even looking for food, just napping in the sun, seemingly quite comfortable. We'll see how he is tomorrow and if he's still not eating we might have to call the visiting vet. So that will be fun. Much as I like the idea of Tojo living in the garden forever, I'm preparing myself for this not to have a happy ending.
We have also had to make a fuss of Alistair. He doesn't actively object to Tojo, but he doesn't like other cats terribly much and he is a bit of a comfort eater when stressed. He has been doing a lot of knee-sitting, slightly sulky because no-one will give him extra biscuits. Poor lamb.
Yesterday was the Victorian state government election. Voting, whoo! While I was waiting to vote, there was a woman in the queue behind me, whining loudly, "Oh, they've got the go-slows, how long has it been" several times, which, yes, I've been in faster queues, but there are some places where people risk their lives to vote, so it won't kill you to wait ten minutes, lady. The primary school even had a cake stall out the front, so she could have filled in time by eating a lamington. Which would have had the bonus effect of rendering her unable to whine, so... win-win.