i find most people who haven't seen it in person don't know that cairo is RIGHT THERE

I loved these perspectives so I took some of my own when I was in Cairo and yeah, they're literally just. Right there. Pass em on your way to work, nbd

No, y'all don't even understand.

There is literally a Pizza Hut across the street from the pyramids.

That Pizza Hut among other things is why Egyptologists laugh their asses off when we see another piece of media where the protagonists get "lost in the desert near the pyramids", because it's like... just turn around my dudes you're only a seven min walk away from the nearest fastfood shop

Yall don't know how much I adore all of this

My Mum had an Singer treadle machine on a wooden stand, inherited from her mum, my Gran. According to Mum, Gran got it "the year old King Edward died", meaning 1910.

Machines like that weren't cheap (up to a couple of months' average wages) so it probably did dual service as a household machine and in my Grandad's saddlery shop.

As @viridianriver mentions about their machine and which I saw done more than once (repairing my leather schoolbag, for instance) it could put a needle and a waxed linen thread through thick leather with no effort at all, and do it fast.

The only update Mum gave it, sometime around 1975-ish, was an electric motor with variable-pressure foot-pedal, though she still preferred the treadle or even the hand-wheel for delicate work.

About that same time Dad bought her a fancy new Brother machine which could do all sorts of tricks, but it was only ever used for fancy work, and not much of that since Mum already had years of practice on the older machine.

The Singer even folded down into its stand, which had its own corner in the living-room and doubled as a table for a flower vase, so was also handier to use.

Like so...

Clever…

Mum's Singer was running like a sewing-machine (hah!) right up to her death in 2007, and my sister still uses it now and then.

Nearly 115 years isn't a bad service record. These machines are solid.

Roommate went out of town once, asked me to look after her cat.

Night one she comes down meowing at me. I go check her food/water, they're full. Litter box empty. Make sure my roommate's door is still open and she's not locked out of her room or something. I try to pet her and she dodges me, offer her treats and she won't have it, try playing with her but she won't play, try just ignoring her and she won't stop following me around meowing at me.

So I call my roommate, concerned maybe she was sick or in pain and that's why she was being so insistent despite having all her needs met.

Roommate goes: "OH! She wants you to go to bed. Go upstairs to my room and just sit in my bed with her for a few minutes. She should curl up and get comfortable. Once shes laid down she usually lets me go back to what I'm doing she just can't seem to go to bed on her own"

Sure enough, I go sit on roommates bed and she just happily jumps up, curls up on the blanket, and purrs herself to sleep.

I like when cats try to give their humans healthy habits.

From Theophile Gautier, mid-19th century, about his very floofy white cat:

Don Pierrot of Navarre always sat up at night until I came home, waiting for me on the inside of the door, and as soon as I stepped into the antechamber he would come rubbing himself against my legs, arching his back and purring in gladsome, friendly fashion. Then he would start to walk in front of me, preceding me like a page, and I am sure that if I had asked him to do so, he would have carried my candle. In this way he would escort me to my bedroom, wait until I had undressed, jump up on the bed, put his paws round my neck, rub his nose against mine, lick me with his tiny red tongue, rough as a file, and utter little inarticulate cries by way of expressing unmistakably the pleasure he felt at seeing me again. When he had sufficiently caressed me and it was time to sleep he used to perch upon the backboard of his bed and slept there like a bird roosting on a branch. As soon as I woke in the morning, he would come and stretch out beside me until I rose.

Midnight was the latest time allowed for my return home. On this point Pierrot was as inflexible as a janitor... Twice or thrice Pierrot sat up for me until two o’clock in the morning, but presently he took offence at my conduct and went to bed without waiting for me. I was touched by this mute protest against my innocently disorderly way of life, and thereafter I regularly returned home at midnight. Pierrot, however, proved hard to win back; he wanted to make sure that my repentance was no mere passing matter, but once he was convinced that I had really reformed, he deigned to restore me to his good graces and again took up his nightly post in the antechamber.

Cats : trying to make us go to bed at a Reasonable Time since forever (so they can wake us up at 3 am for treats)

[Image description: a tweet by @mixbecca "rebecca mix" which says "i love when pets just make up Rules and their humans are like "oh, fine." my cat has a bedtime & he won't go to sleep until we do. every night at 10:30 he starts trying to herd us up the stairs. & now we, two grown a[censored] humans, adhere to the bedtime of a 12 pound cat."]

Don Pierrot of Navarre is an absolutely spectacular name for a cat.