“woman” versus “female”

a thousand times, YES!

from: http://www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/wp/2014/07/16/how-to-call-someone-girl-without-seeming-like-a-raging-sexist/

Finally, while we’re here, let me put on my Grammar Girl hat and tell you about “woman” versus “female”: If you wouldn’t use the word “man,” don’t use “woman.” If you wouldn’t write “man lawyer,” you shouldn’t write “woman lawyer.” The adjective you’re looking for is “female,”  and you should use it sparingly: use it if you have a good reason to highlight someone’s sex, such as when someone is the first female astronaut to visit Mars.

An open letter to the noises coming from the ceiling

Dear noises coming from the ceiling,

I am trying to work and am finding your noises to be both distracting and unsettling. You had better be possums or something slightly cute or I shall be very displeased.

If you could cease your clicking and scratching sounds until I’m elsewhere I would appreciate it very much. Better yet, if you found another place (away from me) to make your noises, I would be most grateful. 

-durdlin

In which Petersen is missing and then trapped

(This story ends well).

When Burfit woke up on Saturday morning he asked if I’d seen Petersen. I had not.

It transpired that neither of us had seen her since Thursday morning. Both Baxter and Petersen disappear for what feels like quite a while from time-to-time but two days was getting straight into worry territory.

After breakfast Burfit set out with the treat bag, shaking it and calling Petersen’s name. After a fairly short search he found her.

She was stuck inside our neighbours’ house.

They must have gone away for a few nights and not realised that she’d snuck in. Our neighbours have security screens so they’d left the windows open which was nice, so at least she had air. But we weren’t sure exactly how long she’d been there or when they were coming home.

After Burfit came home and told me what he knew, we realised we only had the first name of the man next door. No surname. No contact number.

Burfit went back around the house to see if there was some sort of opening through which we could slide Petersen a dish of water or something when our neighbours’ daughter drove in – hooray! We hurriedly explained – she apologised – we apologised even more – and Petersen was free.

I went back around a few minutes later with paper towels and disinfectant in case there was anything of note to take care of but Anita (we have all their names and contact numbers now) told me not to worry.

Stupid cat.

petersen's on the fence