There’s a recurring theme in my nightmares of being in a natural disaster, typically a tsunami and flood. It happened again last night. This time at least it ended with friendly porpoise swimming repeated circles around and leaping over me.
All the bats are welcome to come roost in my attic or along my eaves if everyone else has a problem with them. We kept thinking about bat boxes at the goats, but since they’d just be taken down after a move, it didn’t seem wise.
Last week, all my photos from Oregon Zoo came through a three-hour stakeout of the red panda exhibit. Today everything I got—chimps, lions, and red pandas—came by happenstance, luck-of-the-draw, and right-place-right-time.
I don’t want to talk about CJ Chilvers’ thoughts on automation, I want to talk about CJ Chilvers blockquoting of Kurt Vonnegut about why he goes out to buy a single envelope rather than order a box of them to have at home, because it mostly expresses the reasons why I go out to have a latte and read a book rather than do those things at home. Especially the bit about there being dogs. I don’t have dogs, I have cats, because I’d be a terrible dog-owner, and other people’s dogs are the only dogs I ever get to see and/or pet, and, really, I would spend more time with other people if I never actually had to interact with them and only had to interact with their dogs.
Jennifer A. Kingson somehow filed a report on therapy llamas for The New York Times that never once mentions Rojo, arguably the most well-known such llama (he’s the first Google result for
therapy llama) who literally was just in the news for dying at 17 after an entire decade of such therapy work.
Meru the cat did not come to bed at all last night, choosing instead to sleep on the love seat in the living room, but now she expects me to spring into action to feed her right at eight o’clock in the morning when my alarm goes off?