Stumbled onto a domestic zoo (cont.): Blog in the time of Corona

                            

        

Last week I spent a good thousand words on three cats that have been serving as my housemates at my brother’s house. Beautiful, loving cats that I am unfortunately allergic to. These cats have been very entertaining, especially during Zoom meetings; I am starting to think these cats are interested in starting an academic career and are literally networking with my supervisors. But the cats are mere extras to this beautiful animal tale. There is only one leading lady. One hairy, lazy, silly leading lady. Leyla.

Leyla. She is a superstar. The cats are cute and all, but no one can take their eyes off Leyla. She is gorgeous and pairs this beauty with the best personality you could ask for in a dog. She is sweet to a fault. My three year old nephew would annoy her, his mother would tell him off and Leyla would bark at the mother for telling off her assaulter. She is sweet, not necessarily smart. Playing hard to get is certainly not her strong suit. She loves everyone she has ever met, she will lie on the floor and demand to be petted within seconds of meeting them. She once cornered a cat-lover friend of mine by the door and blocked any exit, leaving her no choice but to pet her endlessly. Not that that is a bad thing; I would pet Leyla for the rest of my life and die a happy woman.

If you have read about Leyla in another post, you would remember that she is very popular with pedestrians and car drivers alike. Cars stop to ask what breed she is. Cars behind those cars pop their head out to get a closer look. It seems no one is in a hurry lately. A woman jumped out of a café to take a picture. And I get it, Leyla looks like a bear, it’s a win-win situation; you get an exotic picture and don’t die. She looks so much like a lovely teddy bear that a little girl once followed us for a block shouting ‘Bear! Bear!’. She and Leyla spent a good five minutes lovingly petting one another. Leyla was taller than the girl. When I finally pulled Leyla away because it was starting to rain, the little girl burst into tears. I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t leave Leyla with her. I would then burst into tears. And I am harder to console. The other day I was stopped by an elderly lady who again wished to pet Leyla. She asked what her breed she was and then her name. I promptly replied and she said ‘Oh I know of Leyla, my grandson has told me about her’. It seems that Leyla is nothing short of a canine celebrity in my area, complete with paparazzi (café lady), groupies (four year old girl), a reputation (grandmother) and, thanks to my blog, tabloids dedicated to her life.

She is fantastic and sweet, as most dogs are. Seeing as dogs are also thought to be vigilant guards of the household, we have frequently wondered, what would Leyla do in case of danger? What if someone were to rob the house? Chances are she would once again roll over and ask the rubber gloved intruder to pet her. This would luckily be a good diversion; petting her is so rewarding, I don’t think there would be any time or desire left for a proper robbery. Breaking and entering and petting would be the crime. My brother suggests that Leyla would sense the danger, react and protect. I have, again, good reason to doubt this. In one of our night walks I got a nice little preview of Leyla’s vigilante’s side. There isn’t one. We were walking down the street when a tiny dog emerged and starting barking and scratching Leyla’s face. Its bark was embarrassing, Leyla could simply fart in his general direction (Monty Python-wise) and the dog would most likely fly to the opposite pavement. But Leyla just stood there, no paw, no bark, no fart for God’s sake! Just stood there being barked at and scratched by this figurine of a dog. I was embarrassed. I was pulling on her lease (the other dog walker was certainly enjoying the throw down) secretly hoping Leyla would come to her senses and dominate the encounter. It never happened. I have resorted to a different route to protect this oversized sheep from that stupid, furry gremlin. A few minutes later, a car backfired. Or fireworks went off. Or someone shot a tin can, we will never know. Leyla started running as fast as she could. Never looked back. I swear, if she could tear off her leash and leave me behind, she would have.

And with this post I pledge to cut down on rants about my mundane everyday life. But admittedly, it is mundane, but lovely. Days go by and I don’t even realise because they are full of these furry creatures that do not care about face masks, social distancing, second waves and antiseptics. Not that these aren’t fun conversation pieces, but cuddles are just so much better. This will also mark the last of my ‘Blog in the time of corona’ for the time being. It will return in the unlucky event of a  second wave, or hopefully, never.

Stumbled onto a domestic zoo: Blog in the time of Corona

There is something that is not said enough on the news, but there has been a significant decrease of pop culture. Where are the new MCU releases? Where are new movie releases in general? Where are the new panel shows? And, I never thought I would say this, but what are the Kardashians up to (this was written a month ago, the Kardashians are currently running for office)? These might seem insignificant and pop culture might seem like a luxury unbefitting to our times, but some of us are actually resorting to exercise due to lack of pop culture. This cannot go on. Anyway, this is my way of saying that this post is once again more about everyday life and less about my recent demise into a Lin-Manuel Miranda wormhole. I blame a friend for that. She knows who she is.

Everyday life is now synonymous with animals. I am staying at my brother’s house and cohabiting with three huge cats and one huge dog. I have already mentioned Leyla on this blog, she is a loveable new foundland that weighs 40 kilos and looks like she weighs 60. Sounds like a crowded household? Add two kids under three years old to the mix. I will not be talking about the kids because at some point they will grow up, learn how to read and chase me down for having written this post. The animals, on the other hand, are a safer bet. I doubt Leyla will master reading any time soon.

Let me begin with our three friendly felines as they need proper introductions. The cats I have mentioned less on this blog, because I have been trying to avoid them, allergies and all. I have a mild allergy to cats, and I say mild because I would otherwise already be dead. Life would be easier if said cats had gotten the memo that they are indeed cats and not dogs. You know how cats are said to be dismissive and indifferent? Not these cats! These cats want love 24/7 and they are not afraid to ask for it. The one named ‘Little One’, who is anything but little, will meow and purr and climb on any limb of yours until he is sufficiently petted. We are still not sure what ‘sufficiently’ is, as we have certainly not reached that level yet. He is the kind of cat you nudge away, kick, and ghost but just doesn’t get the hint. Not to mention he considers the baby’s stroller his personal means of transportation. Little one is so clingy, we recently realised his own cat brothers are avoiding him. It is actually the only way to keep the rest of them away; stay close to Little one.

The second cat carries the original and imaginative name of ‘Little Grey One’. Mind you, these do sound better in Greek. At least this one is still grey.  Little grey one loves cuddles and jumping on your lap, but nothing tops his ultimate desire; the duvet. The forbidden duvet. As I mentioned, I am allergic to cats and until recently tried very hard to resist those little balls of fur, and in my attempt to keep on breathing, I have vouched to keep them away from my bedroom. A much failed attempt. I took measures straight away and starting locking the door when I was away. I realised soon enough that shutting the door won’t cut it, because, surprise, they can turn a handle just fine. But mistakes happen, doors are sometimes left unlocked. Little grey one has been frequently found in my bed swirling around, making sure to leave as many of his cat hair as possible on my duvet and pillow. However, I did once enter my unlocked room, finding the bed untouched, feeling sweet, sweet relief. Short lived relief. Little grey one meowed from within my suitcase, proud head popping up from a stack of socks and sundresses. Again, making sure he got his little grey hair all over my clothes. He left so much hair, vegans on the street would stop to ask if I was wearing cat fur and throw red paint on me. So I took further measures, I hung my clothes in the closet. All was well until one morning, in deep sleep, I felt something brush up against my foot. The ninja cat had silently opened the door as I was sleeping and climbed onto bed with me. I don’t know who jumped more abruptly, me or the cat. And yes, you have understood correctly, I am an adult woman terrorised by a cat.

The last cat is ginger, I am sure you are able to put the name together this time round, ‘Little Ginger One’. Little ginger one is very independent and a proper loner. He was the first one to brave the staircase, the first one to approach Leyla, whom he likes much better than his own brothers. I can’t say much for Little red one because he is so independent, I hardly know him. I have succumbed to petting him a couple of times, leaving me with disgusting red spots on my hands, but a warm feeling in my tummy. Stupid, adorable cat.

I was going to then talk about Leyla, the love of my life, but this blabbering of mine has gone on for too long and will continue next week. There are three main questions that arise from this post:

•         Should I be worried that I dedicated a whole blog post to three cats at the age of 25?

•         Should I get a life?

•       Should I get more cats?  

Stumbled onto a ‘Staged’ fifteen minute comedy series

I am going to continue to pretend I have regular readers. I mean I do; it is my housemate and a couple of friends, maybe an aunt if the photo is intriguing. So my regular readers will know that I consider the pairing of Tennant and Sheen for ‘Good Omens’ to be one of the best in recent TV history. Is it their individual flair and sexiness? Is it their chemistry and further combined sexiness? I cannot stress the word sexiness enough! Any project with these two names attached is a project I would binge in a single night. As I did.

Staged was a good opportunity; everyone is in lockdown and slowly losing their mind. The show practically wrote itself. The premise of the show is that the actors were meant to do a play together, which is put on hold because of the pandemic. The director suggests continuing rehearsals via Zoom to get a leg up on everyone else in West End. A good idea, almost devious, with poor execution. Tennant and Sheen, playing themselves, reluctantly agree, but there are numerous obstacles to their rehearsal, ranging from well-kept casting secrets to recycling mishaps. Their loving encounters turn to childish feuds and all of it is paired up with fun, witty (s)wordplay. They both end up insulting each others’ hair; a disgrace, considering they both have beautiful hair.

It is a simple and quick mockumentary; six episodes of 15 minutes each. Fifteen relatable minutes, as Zoom has taken over our lives and significantly limited our patience. The main differences with my Zoom meetings were the video and sound quality; this was not your standard Zoom recording, courtesy of the BBC, and the writers behind the episodes. I assume my Zoom meetings would also be much more enjoyable if they were scripted, regardless of image resolution. A suggestion for my next supervision, maybe. The fifteen minute episodes were wonderful. I assume it is best to watch one every night to end your day with joyous banter from two members of the Royal Shakespeare Company, but I for one watched the whole thing 12-4am. The running gags are hilarious and I have featured one in this post, which may go unnoticed but it will surely make me happy when I proof read. I do proof read even though it may not seem like it.

What I re-realised with ‘Staged’ is how refreshing it is that British comedies are adapting to our current ‘less is more’ attention span. I have mentioned it before that I do get worried when I can’t get through a two minute YouTube clip without checking the run time and almost force myself to stick through longer, boring clips. And I grew up thinking a 20 minute run time was as short as it could get; I can’t imagine how the vine generation feels. It makes sense that series would adjust, in fact, it was long overdue. ‘State of the Union’ also did this brilliantly, showing us a couple meeting up roughly ten minutes before their marriage counselling to have a drink and gossip. I guess it helps that they’ve got lovable comedy leads, like Chris O’Dowd, available. There is even a new platform on the rise, having paid attention to, well our lack of attention. Quibi is taking this idea further and will make a platform strictly for 10 minute series and it is widely thought that this will bring down Netflix. I can definitely see how it would work for comedy and how many talented writers currently working on sketch shows could get involved. Drama might be a bit more tricky, but if I got depressed withing ten minutes of Pixars’ ‘Up’, I am sure I can feel all sorts of things duing a Quibi drama. Again, on the one hand I do worry that we will all end up with ADHD, but on the other hand, why not embrace this fast-paced entertainment we yearn for? And in turn, why not bring down Netflix?

It was very fun and a good reminder that I was in love with David Tennant for most of high school. Only to watch ‘Good Omens’ and also fall in love with Michael Sheen. It seems that middle-aged Britons who have played Hamlet are my type. I am going to die alone. I am thankful for this limited series, because it gave me a great amount of giggles and was there for me when Frasier wasn’t. I grossly underestimated how many seasons of Seattle’s finest I should have taken with me on holiday and Staged came to the rescue. Sheen and Tennant do meta in a lovely, British, self-deprecating manner. Best kind.