This year for my birthday I decided to not be a depressing sack of gravel and actually enjoy life. I took my favourite people to the National Gallery of Canada for a much needed art infusion, and it was exactly what I needed. It’s a beautiful space, with lots of beautiful art. There’s too much to see in one visit, but we were strategic about it, and left very happy.
Equally as impressive – we were able to navigate to and from downtown Ottawa without getting lost, angry, or convinced we would spend the rest of our miserable lives stuck in the car because how do you even get out of downtown Ottawa without a military escort or a sherpa? I know you’re thinking “data plan, and gps” and you’d be technically correct, but I haven’t got either of those things, and I like to think life is much more interesting because of it.
Anyway, besides the thankfully bland commute, excellent art, and my favourite people, I also grilled sausages, served them with very old cheese, and that was the end of an all around great day.
Except the part in the morning when Omega accidentally let Hazel the cat escape the house, then proceeded to live her worst nightmare while the rest of us tried to find the dumb cat. I walked up a couple streets, and by the time I returned, in typical cat fashion, Hazel was sitting nonchalantly in the back yard like nothing had happened. Nobody knows where she went, nobody saw her return. She was just there.
My best guess is she took the opportunity to check in with her alien supervisors, upload all the data she has accumulated over the past several years, maybe she ran a few interstellar errands, and then returned to her post. You know, usual cat stuff.