|Anonymous It Speaks:
That sounds delicious! I've seen people order them at Panera but I have never eaten one myself lol I did have their French Onion soup awhile back.
It’s very good you should try it. I don’t care for mushy bread so I stay away from french onion soup, I hear their tomato basil soup is pretty stellar however.
This was meant to be a quick warm up, but it turned into a comic that I’ve wanted to draw for a while. This is something that is extremely important to me, and I appreciate it if you read it.
A while ago, I heard a story that broke my heart. A family went a cat shelter to adopt. The daughter fell in love with a 3-legged cat. The father straight up said “absolutely not”. Because he was missing a leg. That cat was that close to having a family that loved him, but the missing leg held him back. Why?!
Many people have the initial instinct of “nope” when they see an imperfect animal. I get it, but less-adoptable does NOT mean less loveable. 9 out of 10 people will choose a kitten over an adult cat. And those 10% that would get an adult cat often overlook “different” animals.
All I want people to do is be open to the idea of having a “different” pet in their lives. Choose the pet that you fall in love with, but at least give all of them a fair shot at winning your heart.
Don’t dismiss them, they deserve a loving home just as much as any other cat. They still purr, they still love a warm lap, they still play, they still love you. Trust me, next time you are in the market for a new kitty, just go over to that one cat that’s missing an eye and see what he’s all about!
Let me tell to you a thing.
This is Lenore. I first saw her in a little cage at the Petco I frequent (I used to take my parents’ dog in for puppy play time), and she looked like the grouchiest, old, crotchety cat in the world, and I fell instantly in love. She was cranky, she was anti-social, hanging out at the back of her cage. Her fur was matted because she wouldn’t let the groomers near her.
She was perfect.
But I didn’t have a place for her. I wasn’t living in my own space yet, and where I was, I wasn’t allowed cats. So I pressed my face to the bars of her cage and I promised that if no one had adopted her by the time I’d bought a house, I would come back for her.
I visited her every week for over six months while I looked for a house. At one point, they had to just shave her entire rear-end because the mats of fur were so bad. They told me she clawed the heck outta the groomer that did it, screamed the entire time, and spent the next two days growling at anyone that came near the cage.
A couple of weeks later, I closed on my house. I went back and I got an employee, and I said: “That one. I need that cat.”
They got the paperwork and the lady who ran the rescue that was bringing the cats in told me that Lenore (at the time, Lila) was 8 years old, had been owned by an elderly lady who had died, and brought in to a different rescue, who’d had her for six months on top of the time I’d been seeing her at Petco.
This kitty had been living in a 3x3’ cube for over a YEAR because she was older and “less adoptable.”
I signed the paperwork, put her in a cat carrier, and drove her to my new home. I had pretty much nothing; a bed, an old couch, a couple of bookcases, and a tank of mice I called “Cat TV”. I let her out of the carrier and onto my bed, and I told her “I told you I would come back for you when I had a place. It’s not much, but it’s yours too now.”
Lenore spent the next three days straight purring non-stop. She followed me around the house purring. Sat next to me purring. Slept next to me purring. Leaning into every touch, purring, purring, always purring. She still purrs if you so much as think about petting her. She’s amazing, and I love her.
So, you know, if you’re thinking about adopting, and you see a beast that others consider “less adoptable,” think about Lenore.
Im laying down watching The Hounds of Baskersville. It’s thundering outside, I’m wearing comfy pjs, cloaked in my blanket with a belly full of soup. I’m soooooo comfy and sleepy!
Don’t be smart.
My favourite part of this is how apparently, at some point, one of them two of them started a sentence with something along the lines of: “Well, how about a game of Operation?”
Consider: Sherlock Holmes, who is bored by normal life and won’t get out of bed for anything less than an 8 agrees to play Operation (ages 6+) with his brother.
Sherlock and his odd commitment to board games might be one of my favourite things about this show. The seemingly-incongruous playfulness of it! The fact that Sherlock’s willing roll dice and wield tweezers just for fun; this is a man who equates fun with freshly-murdered bodies, so I kind of love that board games as also on his list. And John won’t play Cluedo with him again! The tragedy of it! John, don’t deny Sherlock his simple pleasures! Come on! Play Cluedo with him!
Maybe it’s just Cluedo John’s ruled out. Maybe they have a stack of 1970s board games hidden somewhere that they pull out regularly.
Or does Mycroft have a vintage and pristine 1965 game of Operation in his briefcase which he brandishes at key moments? Does he look at Sherlock and think, yes, he needs a round or two of a childhood board game right now. That will cheer him right up. Excellent use of our time!
Maybe that’s the unexpected thing John and Sherlock do right after the plane lands. They go back to 221b for a rousing game of Go.
The image of Mycroft having a game of Operation inside is briefcase is just too hilarious. Like what if John were there and Mycroft pulls out this briefcase and puts it on the table and was like, “You leave me no choice, little brother.” And John just sits there and swallows because what the hell does Mycroft have in that thing, is it a gun, is it a bomb, is it the queen, and Mycroft opens it and poof! It’s just Operation and John honestly couldn’t have expected that.
You do know about the box…the Pope’s box? When a new Pope has been chosen, and the bells of St. Peter’s chime, he is shown into a small chamber next to the Sistine Chapel. They call it the room of tears, named for the sublime mixture of joy and sorrow that he must contemplate at this moment. He is brought a key to this box. It has been said that this box contains the ultimate secret. It holds the secret of the end of the world.