benedicts-cumberbuns

merriamwebsterdictionary:

reasons why winter is better than summer:

  • little to no insects (◕‿◕✿) 
  • sweaters all the time (◠△◠✿)
  • the air is nice and fresh smelling (◡‿◡✿)
  • sometimes it snows and you get out of school \(◕‿◕✿)/
  • snow is pretty (´・ω・`)
  • no pollen (▰˘◡˘▰) 
  • it gets darker faster so theres more nighttime and more time to look at the stars (ᅌᴗᅌ* )
  • everything is dead just the way i like it (⊙‿⊙✿)
scifigrl47
scifigrl47:

copperbadge:

copperbadge:

Look who followed me into the cemetery this morning.

"Can I tell the cat story? Can I please?"
"Yes, Sam, you can tell the cat story."
So this morning I was on my way to Copp’s Hill Burying Ground, one of the most historic old cemeteries in Boston, when I met a cat. I was hiking my ass up Hull Street and I noticed a black cat was pacing me across the street. Eventually he followed me up and into the cemetery, where I took the above photo. 
We hung out for a while. I named him Buster. I figured if he turned out to be a she we could call her Busta. He had a little collar covered in skulls with a bell on it, so he clearly is beloved by someone. 
When scifigrl47 and Kate arrived to meet me, I mentioned the cat to them, and a few minutes later he wandered up to us. We made much of him, and Kate tapped one of the grave markers, a big flat one, and asked if he’d jump up onto it so she could photograph him. And he did, we have photos as proof. 
After his little photo shoot, we said goodbye to Buster and walked down the hill to explore more of the cemetery. The former exit at the bottom of the hill is no longer there, so we were coming back up when we noticed two very stylish older women walking two small dogs in the cemetery.
Now:
a) there are two large, very clear signs at the entrance saying NO DOGS. 
b) Who the hell thinks it’s appropriate to walk their dogs in a historic cemetery? Like, ever?
So I’m remarking on the gaucheness of what they’re doing, and we’re about to sort of avoid them, when we realize Buster is still around. And one of the dogs, fortunately on a leash, is freaking the fuck out at him. 
Sci, with more presence of mind than I had, starts off up the hill to make sure the cat is okay, and we’re following her along when we see the one woman bend down and scoop the dog into her arms. I wasn’t sure why she was doing this until I saw Buster hit a four-foot vertical leap and go BANANAS on the woman. 
Not the dog. The woman holding him. 
Buster disapproves of dogs in the cemetery too, and he knows who to blame. 
And we actually cannot believe what we just saw, this perfectly nice cat going after her like that, when the other woman scoops up HER dog and they start bombing for the gate out of the cemetery. They were going pretty much full out and when they hit the gate we realized it was because BUSTER THE TEN POUND CAT was literally chasing them out of the graveyard. And then down the street.
We hit the exit ourselves torn between laughter and utter amazement at this fucking hardcore cat policing his cemetery. There was a woman standing on the sidewalk in her pajamas, probably Buster’s owner, as well as a guy on a scaffold doing tuckpointing who clearly saw the whole thing and was just busting his guts laughing. 
We spent all day talking about that cat. Kate’s convinced he’s not actually a cat, he’s either a shapeshifter or the spirit of a departed revolutionary war hero. I suspect he’s some kind of supernatural entity. 
Buster the cat might just be my spirit animal. 

As God is my witness, I have never seen a cat go for someone like that.  
Now, I would also like to point out that we stopped and addressed said cat politely.  I crouched down, offered a hand, the little guy sat down next to me and let me pet him for a few minutes.  No aggression, no hissing, no skittishness.  Jumped right up when Kate patted the grave and asked him if he wouldn’t please come up so we could get a picture.
But those women took off RUNNING.

What a cool cat!

scifigrl47:

copperbadge:

copperbadge:

Look who followed me into the cemetery this morning.

"Can I tell the cat story? Can I please?"

"Yes, Sam, you can tell the cat story."

So this morning I was on my way to Copp’s Hill Burying Ground, one of the most historic old cemeteries in Boston, when I met a cat. I was hiking my ass up Hull Street and I noticed a black cat was pacing me across the street. Eventually he followed me up and into the cemetery, where I took the above photo. 

We hung out for a while. I named him Buster. I figured if he turned out to be a she we could call her Busta. He had a little collar covered in skulls with a bell on it, so he clearly is beloved by someone. 

When scifigrl47 and Kate arrived to meet me, I mentioned the cat to them, and a few minutes later he wandered up to us. We made much of him, and Kate tapped one of the grave markers, a big flat one, and asked if he’d jump up onto it so she could photograph him. And he did, we have photos as proof. 

After his little photo shoot, we said goodbye to Buster and walked down the hill to explore more of the cemetery. The former exit at the bottom of the hill is no longer there, so we were coming back up when we noticed two very stylish older women walking two small dogs in the cemetery.

Now:

a) there are two large, very clear signs at the entrance saying NO DOGS. 

b) Who the hell thinks it’s appropriate to walk their dogs in a historic cemetery? Like, ever?

So I’m remarking on the gaucheness of what they’re doing, and we’re about to sort of avoid them, when we realize Buster is still around. And one of the dogs, fortunately on a leash, is freaking the fuck out at him. 

Sci, with more presence of mind than I had, starts off up the hill to make sure the cat is okay, and we’re following her along when we see the one woman bend down and scoop the dog into her arms. I wasn’t sure why she was doing this until I saw Buster hit a four-foot vertical leap and go BANANAS on the woman.

Not the dog. The woman holding him. 

Buster disapproves of dogs in the cemetery too, and he knows who to blame. 

And we actually cannot believe what we just saw, this perfectly nice cat going after her like that, when the other woman scoops up HER dog and they start bombing for the gate out of the cemetery. They were going pretty much full out and when they hit the gate we realized it was because BUSTER THE TEN POUND CAT was literally chasing them out of the graveyard. And then down the street.

We hit the exit ourselves torn between laughter and utter amazement at this fucking hardcore cat policing his cemetery. There was a woman standing on the sidewalk in her pajamas, probably Buster’s owner, as well as a guy on a scaffold doing tuckpointing who clearly saw the whole thing and was just busting his guts laughing. 

We spent all day talking about that cat. Kate’s convinced he’s not actually a cat, he’s either a shapeshifter or the spirit of a departed revolutionary war hero. I suspect he’s some kind of supernatural entity. 

Buster the cat might just be my spirit animal. 

As God is my witness, I have never seen a cat go for someone like that.  

Now, I would also like to point out that we stopped and addressed said cat politely.  I crouched down, offered a hand, the little guy sat down next to me and let me pet him for a few minutes.  No aggression, no hissing, no skittishness.  Jumped right up when Kate patted the grave and asked him if he wouldn’t please come up so we could get a picture.

But those women took off RUNNING.

What a cool cat!

buckyhales
I was the first of the Potter actors to learn to drive. I passed my test at the second time of trying. On the set, there’d always be a lot of talk about cars among the cast, although Daniel Radcliffe never joined in. He’s never been into cars at all. My first ambition was to become an ice-cream man, which is why I bought the Bedford van. Not long after I first got it, I pulled into a pub to do a U-turn and there were eight kids with their pocket money out, hoping to buy a 99 or whatever. But I had nothing to give them. I’ve learnt my lesson since then. I keep my van well stocked. It’s got a proper machine that dispenses Mr Whippy ice cream and I buy my lollies wholesale – 50 for a tenner – so I never run short. I’m not allowed to sell my merchandise. I’d need a licence for that. I tend to avoid July and August, but the rest of the year I’ll drive around the local villages and if I see some kids looking like they’re in need of ice creams, I’ll pull over and dish them out for free. They’ll say, “Ain’t you Ron Weasley?” And I’ll say, “It’s strange, I get asked that a lot.” The van often comes in useful. I drove it up to the set on the last day of filming on Harry Potter. The cast and crew were having a barbecue and I supplied the lollies and ice creams.’

Rupert Grint. 

This man is better than you.  (via theuncultured)

This is awesome

(via diniknits)

oh my sweet ginger prince

(via casterley)