Dogs and food allergies

DONT BE MEAN TO ME PLEASE I AM JUST ASKING A QUESTION
so only recently was my SDA application put it took ages to get the OT and everything to do the stuff for it but its in. Anyway im wondering if there anything i can do to speed it up or that my suppot corrindator can do. I have been homeless sleeping on the streets for over over 2 months straight (minus the week I spent in hospital)
I've been on public housing waitlist for over a year however because I have special requirements for housing due to my disability meaning I need a house with certain features or without certain features it means it is taking a very long time for one to be available. So I am disabled and without support at the moment because i cant get support living on the streets and because my funding is like 10 dollars left and I have been waiting 6 months for my change of circumstance put in a complaint for that and had MP contact them twice but still not done anything yet. Every services turns me away for reasons including

• being a girl not male
  
• my disability under 21 rate support pension is too low for them to do anything ( i just turned 19 a couple days ago)
  
• I need special housing requirements
  
• wont help me because i have lots of medical conditions and disabilities
  

Apparently sda can take like 12 months so am I just meant to try to not die on the streets in this time? Also winter is in like 10 days. I literally just be laying on the ground most of the time. Because im disabled and cannot go far can barely make it to the store to get food and get so lost trying to find it and end up like dropping my money all over the store floor and then cannot find what i am trying to find and then end up dropping my food on floor while trying to check out and its just so hard. I have alot of serve food allergies too which is hard when you cannot cook anything. And I can only shower every few weeks when I go to public beach shower (i went to homeless organizations that are meant to offer showers but got turned away for being a girl even tho there is nothing on their website saying its not allowed). I have not had clean clothes for over 2 months either. I have alot of hard time getting places and carrying stuff and buying stuff because i just drop all my money on floor and cannot really count it.
Not sure how I am going to not die soon?? Also I am not even on medicine anymore because it is too complicated for me to take myself and i lost it. when I had like the hospital social worker and stuff (I came in because i was having medical heart emergency so a ambualnce just took me) they were like oh well you have been homeless for ages now so you can just wait for public housing and continue what youre doing. I go into public housing and they just tell me to wait for SDA and when I have contacted NDis they tell me to just wait for public housing as apparently it will be quicker. Hm
also I have 0 family or friends so.
Im in sydney if reveleant
help appericated.

Hi, i wanted to ask yall, if im starting my weight loss the right way.
To introduce myself, here are some informations about me:
I'm a 16 year old boy and i weight 100kg. I know, you might think that I'm really obese, 100kg might seem crazy, but we have it in our family. My father is fit, yet he still weights 92 kg.
I would describe myself as overweight, but not obese. Im kinda chubby.
Activity: I have three dogs, so im really active. I walk around 8-12 km everyday or i ride a bike around 35 km with them (two times a week).
I also do agility sport with my dogs (once a week training, then competitions on the weekends.
Food: This is where i think is the problem. I dont eat fast-foods, i dont eat chips, i dont drink sweet beverages on a daily basis, only 2 times a week, but not to make my thirst go away, only for the taste, i normally drink water or sparkling water during the day.
For breakfast, i either eat müsli with milk/yogurt, or a bread with jam.
For a snack, i usually have a bread with ham/cheese and salad + an apple.
For lunch, i have what is in my school cantine. For example chilli con carne with rice, Spaghetti bolognese, baked chicken with potatoes.
After i come home from school, i usually drink and ice coffee (without sugar), but then i eat a lot of things, which i think is the problem. I usually eat a lot of different things.
For dinner i usually have also some baked, boiled meat with potatoes, soup, sometimes pancakes, Spaghetti, bread with tunna salad.
After dinner, i try to not eat anything, but sometimes i do eat something small more.
I want to start only eating breakfast, lunch and dinner, nothing in between. Also i want to completely put away sugar, and only eat wholegrain carbs.
I could also start running instead of walking with my dogs.

I'm a laid back gay man from Wisconsin. I'm in a relationship so I'm just looking for some platonic friends where we chat about our day or hobbies. I'm introverted but can be very social and put in effort in getting to know you if you do the same. Would be cool to run into some people locally but I'm ok with online friends as well. I'm currently on summer break from work and have a ton of free time.
Some things to know about me
I'm a big nerd and tend to hyperfixate on my interests
I have a PS5 and currently have fallout 76, battlefront 2, helldivers and recently got into fortnite. Maybe we can game?
I like to read, although I've been in a bit of slump. I generally stick to fantasy and sci-fi
Some TV series I like or have liked ( Dark, avatar the last Airbender, community, fringe, GOT)
Coffee addict
Dog dad to two huskys. Love to trade pet pics
420 friendly
Big foodie. Love to cook and try new food.
Learning to garden and forage edible plants and mushrooms
Spend too much time on TikTok. Love sending funny videos
My music interests are all over but I generally listen to different types of rock music. I tend to obsess over a few bands. Sleep Token is my favorite
Like to travel but I haven't been outside of the Midwest much. Hope to change that
Like going to breweries and trying new beer.
Anyways if any of this sounds like we could get along feel free to reach out. Please introduce yourself, don't just say hey. I also have discord or snap if we vibe because reddit chat notifications suck. I'm open to the occasional VC as well. Sometimes it can be a fun way to get to know someone.

So one of my cats has passed two weeks ago and I've been spoiling my other cat with occasional wet food. Since his appetite is not in the best version wet food was helping him until I realized his stoll is changing whenever I give him a can of purina cat food. Does it mean he has allergies and I should stop maybe? We are giving him proplan sterilized salmon dry food in his normal routine and those cans I bought for him are again purina and mostly seafood.

It was half past nine when my shift at the diner ended. It’s not any place specifically you’d know, though you’d be forgiven for confusing it for a Waffle House given the abundance of cheap, greasy food and drunk clientele. The only thing distinguishing our location was that our doors closed at ten.
It was a cold night in October. The winds felt out of place for the fall season with the sharp way they bit into my skin. Usually, the low temperatures in Grant tended to hover around the mid-fifties. Tonight felt particularly frigid even bundled up in the warm confines of my jacket.
I hurried through the lot outside the diner, passing by several vehicles. When I made it to my car at the far end, I was quick to put the key in the ignition.
My car was a special edition Subaru Legacy. The only thing special about it was that it was only by the grace of God that my radiator and engine were still operational given the car was a little over two decades old.
When you turn the key, the engine would knock. My father said it was indicative of worn-out bearings. Could be an engine getting ready to declare sayonara before it crapped out one final time and departed for car heaven or perhaps car hell given its rough condition.
I knew little about that though; all I knew was that as a poor college student I was having a difficult enough time as is scrambling to make ends meet with a part time job at a diner. Regardless, whatever the solution, the answer involved money. Money I, notably, didn’t have.
The smart thing to do would be to purchase another used car; though in this economy that sort of thing is far easier said than done.
An even harder task than figuring out the financing for a replacement vehicle was getting this stubborn thing to turn. The engine threatened to exhibit life but would stop short of properly starting.
It was about the fifth round when my engine found the energy to fight the good fight on this frigid night. The engine knocked fiercely, reverberating inside the hood for a few seconds before the noise steadied itself.
I sighed in relief and backed out of my parking spot in the back of the lot.
As I left, I couldn’t help but notice something out of the corner of my eye. A man, a very rugged specimen of the male sex adorning a blue baseball cap and a grizzly beard, was approaching my vehicle at a brisk pace. Where I was the only one stationed at the back of the lot, it seemed odd he was coming my way.
I turned my head to acknowledge him. That’s when he began to break out into a full-on run.
My heart raced almost as fast as my car. I slammed the pedal down and sped out of the lot, the tires screeched loudly along the pavement as I veered to a sharp right.
​
I was lucky the road didn’t carry heavy traffic around this time of night. Where my eyes were focused on him, I was damn near lucky I hadn’t plowed directly into someone.
I sped along the highway and tried to rationalize why this lumberjack looking fellow had charged me. News reports of human trafficking came to mind, but it wasn’t really anything you heard much about in a place as remote as Grant Alabama.
For crying out loud, we physically were so remote one of the miniature cities within Grant was called Bucksnort. We were about as far from the Big Apple, or any real semblance of civilization, one could get.
After a minute of driving, I slowed down, especially when I heard something in the engine rattle. This car wasn’t designed for no races or wild chases. Not with the amount of age it carried.
Besides, I was alone. Safe.
At least that’s what I thought before I heard the blaring of a truck horn. An eighteen-wheeler was coming up behind me. Given I was the only other soul visible on this lonely two lane stretch of highway, it was clear they were honking at me.
I prayed to God and kept moving.
The big rig followed closely. We went down the road for two miles when suddenly my vision was obscured in a bright light.
The trucker was flashing his high beams. I could barely see when he hit me with them. I nearly swerved off the road when he did it.
After a few seconds the mounted flood lights on his vehicle relented and the blinding rays ceased their assault on my eyes.
I moved my car to the right lane to let him pass. He had no intention of doing so. His signal made that clear when he merged behind me.
Drops of rain began to pour from the sky lightly tapping my windshield.
Plop…plop, plop…plop.
My car didn’t handle well with slick roads. Fortunately, I wasn’t too far from home. Maybe another seven miles.
The fiery orange glow flooded the cabin of my car and I yelped.
I fumbled in my purse. One hand on the wheel, one digging desperately for my phone. With my visibility being periodically robbed, I was already a hazard on the road. Might as well risk compounding the issue if it meant I could get in contact with the police.
When the high beams vanished, I managed to pull out my phone and dial 911.
​
The operator answered after two rings. “911, what’s your emergency?” The man that answered the call sounded bored out of his mind, like he’d rather be anywhere else on a Saturday night.
I didn’t care if he was bored, entertained, playing with himself. As long as he could send someone out that’s all I cared about in the end.
“There’s a maniac tailgating me,” I said.
The operator’s voice clipped. Though from what I could understand of the roboticized sound coming out from his end of the line, I could tell from his tone he remained unenthused. “Ma’am, you’ve called an emergency line.”
​
“Y-you don’t understand! I was leaving work and this man started chasing me. I-I think he’s trying to hurt me.”
The operator fell silent for a few seconds. For a moment, between the rainy weather and the flaky signal, I thought I’d lost him. His voice reemerged seconds later. “Where are you?”
I rattled off the highway number I was driving on and told him my home address.
“I’ll get an officer dispatched in the area. ETA should be around ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. Six hundred seconds. Toss whatever metric you wanted to use to measure it out, with that big rig riding close behind me and the driver intermittently blinding me when they felt like getting their rocks off, it might as well have spanned an eternity. I was going to be lucky I didn’t crash into a guardrail or land myself in a ditch.
“Make that around fifteen minutes,” the operator clarified, his crackled voice twisting the knife deeper into me with his update.
I made the turn off the two-lane highway. I didn’t signal when I did it. I was hoping the sudden movement would have had my unwanted friend in the big rig blow past me.
“Ma’am?”
For a moment, I believed it worked. No more blinding lights. The only sound was the operator fishing for a response and the pitter patter of rain on my windshield.
My sigh of relief became a choking noise lodged inside my throat as I saw the eighteen-wheeler backing up. It didn’t turn on a dime, but he was moving fast enough.
The road up ahead winded with hairpin curves. I didn’t know how long I’d have until those lights were upon me. Till he was upon me.
The phone clicked and the call abruptly ended.
I cursed under my breath while my engine knocked like an irate person trying to beat down a door. My Subaru was rapidly approaching its limit. I had to think fast.
These were my options: I could risk speeding and hoped the engine would hold out till I made it to the house, or I could continue driving at a steady pace. If the first option proved successful, he might not see where my vehicle would vanish. If it didn’t, my car might leave me stranded. That’s assuming I didn’t wreck myself taking a turn too fast.
The other option would be safer, but I’d be visible to him. Though with some of these curves I feared if he hit me with the high beams again, I’d be at risk of crashing. Where the area of road ascended, one wrong turn would mean a long journey down.
It would mean certain death.
Taking a sharp intake of breath, I pulled out my phone and called my husband. The only answer I got was his voicemail urging me to leave a message at the tone.
“Billy, there’s a lunatic after me. I’ve called the cops. Please…please be ready. I’m only two minutes away.”
It wasn’t the most inspiring call to action. My husband wasn’t Billy Badass. He was more like Billy the Stamp Collector. Benign hobbies. Soft spoken. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Still, I was counting on his presence to deter Mr. High Beams behind me. It was a desperate ploy, but it was all I could think of on such short notice.
I made the turn into the dirt trail that led to my driveway. As I was pulling in the porch light flickered to life. Maybe. It might have been those high beams. They illuminated my cab in a flood of light once more obscuring my vision.
The door to the house opened and a figure ran out of the entryway. My husband from what I could discern of the silhouette. Our dog Jasper, a black schnauzer with more bark than bite, darted out the door. I couldn’t see the little guy, but I heard him.
I stopped the car and shoved open the door. I bolted out of the seat, nearly tripping over my own feet with my frantic departure.
Jasper started barking up a storm, even before the big rig came to a standstill.
The door of it opened and the bearded man stepped out of the vehicle.
Strangely, my dog paid the trucker little mind. Jasper’s eyes remained fixated on my Subaru. He began to snarl.
“Get away from the car,” the man bellowed. He pulled out a gun and pointed it at an angle, almost like he was aiming at my vehicle.
Was this how my life was going to end? Shot dead when I was at the finish line, where I was supposed to be safe?
My husband Billy babbled. “S-sir, please. You don’t have to do this.”
The trucker shook his head. As he did, the sound of sirens began to blare in the distance. He didn’t answer us. Instead, he lowered his gun into his holster and stood still as a statue all while my dog continued snarling and barking at our vehicle.
When the police came, guns drawn, he remained calm.
“I’m not the one you want,” he said. “The car. Search the car.”
Even to this day, I still remember in vivid detail what happened. When the police opened the rear driver door, there was a gaunt looking man back there crouched in the floorboard with a knife clenched in his hand. The wide, manic look lingering in his eyes remained far colder than the frigid winds blowing around us.
The trucker explained later that he saw the man inside my vehicle wielding the blade. He must’ve snuck inside before my shift ended. Once the driver realized what was going on, he’d tried to intervene.
Every time the person in the backseat had attempted to overpower me, to harm me, the trucker turned on his high beams. It scared my unknown passenger. The sight of the light made him hide.
The police hadn’t offered much in the way of details concerning who my stowaway was; given the six inches worth of blade he held, not much imagination was needed to map out what the strange man planned to do to me.
I learned on that cold, lonely October night to never judge a situation wholly by appearances. I was grateful to that truck driver. If it weren’t for his persistence, I would probably not be alive today to share my story.

My ex signed a contract I wrote up on February 11th saying he owed me 18k and sole ownership of the dog goes to me. I've been his provider, carer, paid his vet bills, paid for all his food, care, toys etc.
He assaulted me in April and took him from my home. He has 5 days left to respond to the demand letter (torts 1977) and then I have to fill out an N1. What's the likelihood that this would stand up in court and I'd get my dog back? And anyone know what the turn around time is for getting a hearing?

Hi everyone, this may turn into a long post as I write this out and (admittedly) vent some frustrations I currently have (sorry in advance if that's not allowed).
To start off, between my SO and I we have 2 dogs, 3 cats, and a bunny. Someone at work stated a family member of theirs couldn't hold on to their two cats, so they were looking to re-home them, or they be sent off to the shelter by the end of last week. I felt bad, as I wouldn't want to give up my animals if I was put in the position that this person is in (basically they moved, but due to certain life events they had to move in with their parents who said no to the cats). So I offered to hold on to them so they wouldn't end up in the shelter, and they would be returned to their owner once they find a place they can stay at that will allow them to have cats.
The issue at hand is that my GF really doesn't want them here, claiming they could have some issue like a disease or something, which to q degree is understandable, but I'm keeping them separated from our other animals for the time being (even though the owner has stated they are healthy and is trying to send paperwork). She stated she also feels disrespected (more on this further down) that I would go forward with this without her approval (I did mention a few times about the cats, so it wasn't completely out of the blue). As such, she is threatening to break up with me over this if they are not removed from the home (she's also threatened throwing them outside and making them street cats, which obviously isn't good).
I'm upset that I'm trying to be a good person but am being forced to not be allowed to do so (I figured since we already have 3 cats, what's 2 more for some time, considering cats are low effort in my opinion).
Now for some juicy details that you redditors may enjoy reading. As I've stated earlier, she feels disrespected that I would move forward with this decision, without talking to her more about it. I honestly didn't think it would be a big issue since we both love animals. Growing up, whenever I visit my home country, if there was an animal that needed to take care of, I'd end up giving away a good portion of my vacation looking after said animal. And if I couldn't look after it for some time for whatever reason, a portion of my mind was constantly preoccupied wondering if they were ok. For my gf, as an example, she guilt trip me into taking in a pet rat that we we unprepared to take in (this was the only reason why I was against it, as neither of us had the money to buy a proper enclosure), as she was concerned that someone would end up buying it as snake food. This obviously made me feel bad, and we ended up getting the rat (ended up passing away, so it's currently not in the picture). She's has also stated that she wanted chickens, which I also don't mind, as roosters crowing and hens clucking remind me of my grandparents' farm. I'm hesitant on that only because I'd need to put in the time, energy, and money into making an enclosure for them (can't just have them running around in the backyard). So you can see why I thought she wouldn't mind looking after 2 cats who we are indirectly ready to take in due to having our cats. I have my suspicions thay she's jealous/insecure about it being another female's cats, as she asked a question or two about the scenario that in my opinion didn't pertain to the cats directly (more on this layer)
The issue I have with her claiming she feels disrespected is I feel like I bend over backwards for her, while also letting her walk all over me, to the point where she claimed I have/had sex with my mom (she did not say this directly to me, she stated it to certain family members who have relayed it back to me) which such a thing has never occurred. She also believes I have done something to the our animals. The first time she stated that if she found out I ever did something to the animals, she'd find someplace to go and take all the animals and I'd never find her. Another time my dog was pooping, and she asked why his rectum looked like that (again, pretty much claiming I did something to my dog). The most recent claim she's made is I went out to walk my dog, and ended up talking to one of our "neighbors" (they live behind the house that's directly across the street from us) and I admittedly stayed for a very long time. She tried calling me, but my phone was on silent for some reason, and I ended up missing her call. She sent me a few messages, the first 2 claiming she was going to call the police and file a missing person report (understandable considering how long I've been gone, and the fact it was around 11 at night), but then the following messages claimed she hopes my dog doesn't come back raped, and the message after that asked if I was "getting fucked by Dan" (I don't even a Dan where we live). She's also claimed I did something to her dog, as she thought her puppy looked prolapsed during her period. So as you can see, there's been a lot of claims by her of me supposedly sodomizing the animals which I want to make clear has not happened.
To make matters worse, and possibly the cherry on top, she claims to have taken some photos that pertain to me that she claims she will post online if we ever break up so people know the real me (I won't get into too much detail, but it is of a sexual nature that luckily doesn't have me directly in it, but nonetheless wouldn't be a good thing to be put online if she goes through with it). I haven't seen these photos directly, but I'm going to assume the worse and believe they exist. I believe this falls under the category of blackmail, bit I'm not sure, as she hasn't used it as leverage to get me to buy her things or do things for her, etc.
I'll admit that I maybe haven't been her perfect boyfriend. I did try however I could, even going above my means to try to please her, which I am am now literally paying for (something I'm currently working on). I also will admit that I have spoken about her to my family members behind her back, although they claim that I'm not speaking ill of her if what she does/says is true (they have witnessed how she is first hand, so they know I'm not talking out my ass about certain things). Am I crazy/in the wrong to think "the audacity of the bitch" when she says she feels disrespected, when she has claimed all the things above?
For some chocolate drizzle: I had a surgery a few months back that I was healing from, and I was laying in the bath tub letting the shower head hit me, just trying to relax a bit, when she comes into the bath to rinse off her dirty feet almost right above my incision (it was basically an open wound with some glue over it).
This is all excluding the constant accusations I get from her about cheating on her. She wants access to my phone (I have somehow managed to stick to my giluns and not give it to her) and I have shown her my text messages a handful of times, and she never finds anything because, well, I'm not cheating on her. I'll admit that I have some sensitive information on my phone that I don't want her to have access to the primary one being bank accounts, and I don't want her seeing my degeneracy on reddit (thank you anonymous browsing lol)
That's it for now. Again, sorry for the long post that turned into a venting/advice session. I have the right of mind to either move into an apartment by myself for some time and letting her figure out what to with her animals and try to get away from this mess. Or better yet, let her be mad over the cats, and break up with me for wanting to help someone out, and potentially take her to the cleaners legally if she goes through with posting the photos about me. I don't want to take legal action against her and potentially ruin her future, as I understand she hasn't had the best life growing up, but I'm also tired of letting her get away with whatever she wants.

Baby with eczema rubbed allergen in her face. What to do now?
My baby has suddenly had a flare up of eczema on her face which has made me nervous about her being allergic to allergenic foods. I've been doing a lot of reading about allergens and have been quite terrified of introducing it to her. She's just started BLW and the other day, I gave her her first allergen: egg. No reaction. A few days later, I tried again with egg and as she was eating, she started rubbing her face. It looked like she got an itchy rash around her eyes. Not hives. But blotchy redness around her forehead and eyes. At the same time, she rubbed the egg into her cheeks, which were peeling from the eczema dryness. So now I'm terrified to proceed with allergens. I know early intros are recommended and she is 6 months, but I am not sure if the face redness and itchiness was an allergic reaction to egg. It didn't fit the normal allergy symptoms I've read about. Also, she mushed the egg into her face, and I read that allergens exposed via the skin can result in more serious Allergies. What do I do now? Should I try egg again? Another allergen?
Note: I did see a Dr about her eczema and asked about allergies but the country I'm in is very old-school about allergies (e.g. peanut butter after 1 year) and had no advice for me, nor did they have concern about the eczema even though her skin is peeling off.

I think a lot about signals. Signals that show people what groups they belong to. Signals that hide the truth. Everybody uses signals to blend, entice, or trap.
Grandma Pearl died not long after her stroke, and I've been making bad decisions ever since. Maybe my expectations are too high, or I'm just an idiot. Either way, I ran away from the group home to be with people who called themselves my "family." They were the wrong people. They used the words family, brother, sister, and love like lock picks, stealing trust, and taking self-respect.
The only person I remember using the word family correctly was Grandma Pearl. She was a small woman who toured the US as an actress before settling with Granddad above their theatrical rentals shop. I was three when the car accident took Granddad and Mom, so I don't know if they used the word "family" correctly, but I hope they did.
I was never as outgoing as Grandma, but that didn't bother her; she taught me how to watch people. How to see their signals, and how to listen. When she died. I forgot a lot of those lessons for a while.
They called it a "family". The "family" moved product. That product could be goods, drugs, or people.
The uninitiated, like me, were distracted with food and a dry place to sleep, but it didn't take long to see behind the curtain. Things got too intense with the new "family" and I ran.
I ran back to my old neighborhood. The buildings were familiar even if my home was gone. The old theatrical shop had been turned into a microbrewery.
After an appropriate amount of self-pity, thirty minutes, I wandered the alleys, picking up cans or scavenging for bits and pieces that could be recycled, used, or bartered.
I recognized old faces, but I tried to stay out of sight. It was safer that way.
The only place I allowed myself to be seen was the old Lutheran church on the park's far side. Most people who might have known me had aged out of the congregation or died. It was worth the risk because St. Lazarus had a food pantry in the basement and gave out lunches most days, so I wasn't always hungry, which was nice.
I found a dry spot near the library to sleep, which seemed like a stroke of luck until it wasn't.
I had the contentment that came with being in a familiar place. Little bits of comfort let me believe, for a moment, that I wasn't a screw-up and hadn't trusted the wrong people. That moment scurried away when Stick found me.
Stick was a scary asshole. He technically wasn't in charge of the " family," but he made it work. He got things done. I have no idea how old he was. He was all corded muscle and could clock in between twenty and fifty. He looked half-starved and moved like a stalking predator, even with his limp.
His left leg was stiff. The knee didn't bend, and anytime he sat, his left leg would be splayed to the side like a kickstand on a bike. The leg was why he walked with a cane. The cane and how he used it was why we called him Stick.
I don't know why he took the time to track me down. It's not like I was wanted. Maybe it was that I had become property. Property shouldn't just wander off.
Sometimes, you feel a person before you see them. The air is different. When Stick was around, the air felt dead and motionless. I knew I was being watched before I opened my eyes.
Stick was sitting on a milk crate, his bad leg cocked to the side and his forehead resting on his cane. I pushed myself out from beneath the ductwork of the HVAC unit I had been sleeping under and slapped the dirt off my jeans.
"I thought that was you," Stick said as his sharp grin curved up to his unblinking dark eyes.
Stick wanted my discomfort. I'd seen him play the intimidation game too many times. He'd act too friendly, and then when you were good and worried, quick movements, a hand around the back of your neck, and violence would be next. Then he'd act like the whole mind fuck was a big joke, like you were friends, and isn't it great that you can joke around with someone who "really" cared.
It worked, too. If you were the unfortunate focus of Stick's attention, you would be grateful when he smiled and said, "Just a joke, kid. Don't be so sensitive." I'd seen the pattern enough times to know Stick trained people like dogs with his hot and cold game. I didn't like the game, or the fear, so I changed the pattern.
"Hey, Stick, did you come to help pick up cans?" I asked, making sure my smile reached my eyes. I was trying to be pleasant while ignoring the burning nervousness in my gut.
It was still dark out, but I could see Stick's expressions well enough.
Stick tapped his cane on the sidewalk and squinted at me skeptically before answering. "Just checking on my little brother."
We were not related.
Stick liked to call the uninitiated his little brothers or little sisters. He forced intimacy into his language. I didn't argue the point. Interactions went best with Stick when you agreed with everything he said.
"Thanks, man," I complimented, trying to sound genuine and ignorant as I stepped forward and offered him my hand.
Stick didn't move, but I could see that this conversation wasn't going as planned for him, and I forced myself not to react to his confusion. I couldn't break character, or he would know I was playing him.
Stick tapped his cane on the ground twice, grasped my hand, and stood. He watched me. I held his stare, but in an open, naive, guileless way that I had perfected in front of the mirror as grandma gave acting advice while she put her face on.
I once asked Grandma Perl why anyone would practice acting stupid. She pointed her mascara brush at me and, in her ditsiest Minnesota Nice character, said, "It's easier to be forgiven when people think you're a little dumb, don't ya know?" Like with most things, Grandma was right.
Before I understood what had happened, Stick pulled me into his side and slung an arm around my shoulder.
"You don't have a name yet. Everyone gets a name, but they don't get to pick it." He paused and gave me a Cheshire cat grin. "I have a name for you, little brother. You are going to be called Slide." Then he held my chin and forced eye contact." Your name will be Slide because I have never seen anyone slide out of shit faster than you. I can't tell if you do it on purpose or not, and I've been watching. I watch everybody. You do, too. Hell, this might be the first time I've ever heard you talk. So let's celebrate your name, Slide." Stick's smile slipped as he pulled me out of the alley. "We'll go do something special."
I stayed silent, knowing full well what was coming. Being named meant doing something you could never take back. It was public and would put you in prison if the police ever took the time to look for you. It meant severing yourself from your life before and relying entirely on the "family." I had been absent each time naming seemed to be in the cards, but I couldn't duck out this time.
There was only one place to go at this time of night that would have an impact, the Bodega.
The Bodega was a red hole in the wall with a glass door papered over with grocery ads years outdated. Canned salmon two for one seemed to be the dominant theme. Although there were two large windows, one on either side of the door, you could barely see in. The right window was a tapestry of cigarette promotions. The left window displayed the only swath of uncovered glass with a view of the interior. From the outside, the view was of tobacco, lottery scratchers, and Old Lady Imitari.
Old Lady Imitari owned the store. She was a short, dark-haired woman who always wore a long floral tank top. Grandma Pearl loved the old woman but said Imitari looked like an old man's thumb all the years she had known her, and Grandma moved to the neighborhood with Grandad thirty years ago. Imitari was a local legend even then because the Bodega was open twenty hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year, and no one else worked in the store. Grandma used to make an extra strong coffee called Barako and chat with Imitari sometimes when work in the shop was slow.
I would sneak out at night and try to catch Imitari sleeping. No matter the time, I never caught her snoozing, and she always saw me peeking at her through the window. I know she saw me because she would uncross her arms and wave her flyswatter at me.
All these memories flicked through my mind as Stick smiled his too-wide smile and pushed me into the Bodega.
Imitari flicked her fly swatter at me in acknowledgment, and her attention returned to the small TV she had nestled beside the cash register, which seemed to be the old woman's only real tether to the world outside her shop.
The inside of the Bodega was just a long hallway with shelves of convenience foods, drinks, home supplies, candy, and cold meds covering every available surface from floor to ceiling. The only break in the tunnel of products was the glass counter at the back corner of the store; Imitari presided over her mini domain by casually ignoring her shoppers. I tried to make eye contact with the old woman again as Stick pushed me to the back of the shop, but after her initial acknowledgment of our entrance, Imitari's eyes stayed focused on her TV.
As casually confident as possible, I walked to the cooler and grabbed an iced tea. "Want a drink," I asked over my shoulder, my voice unusually steady, given the electric current of anxiety flowing through me.
Stick sneered and tapped his cane twice on the ground. His eyes found all the security cameras in the tiny store, a frown creasing his angular features.
I followed his line of sight and finally realized what had bothered him. The cameras were fake. They looked like security cameras, but they weren't. There were no wires or lenses, just rectangles and circles in a security camera shape.
Stick took a deep breath and tapped his cane on the ground again. " There… is … so… much… here… to… see… but… no… one… is… watching," he said with a singsong. Then his sneer turned into a cruel smile.
I knew Stick wanted an audience for what he would force me to do. The fact that the security cameras were fakes meant that whatever was going to happen would now have to be significant. An event that the neighborhood wouldn't be able to ignore. My stomach twisted with the thought.
Stick waggled his eyebrows at me. He had been watching. He had seen my thoughts, and we both knew he had something terrible in mind.
The cane twirled in Stick's hand and then tapped twice on the shop tile.
"I think I want a little bit of this," Stick said, gesturing wildly with his cane, sending a row of soup cans tumbling to the floor. "And a little bit of that," Stick added as another wild gesture sent cups of ramen spinning and knocking glass bottles of hot sauce to the floor.
I stood paralyzed, unable to run. I was trapped with nowhere to duck away to. I didn't want Stick to hurt Old Lady Imitari, and I didn't want Stick to hurt me, either. The truth was, he would hurt both of us no matter what I did. That was just the way Stick was. I'd seen him. I'd seen him show us who he was every day.
Then I realized Imitari hadn't moved. She was watching her TV and chuckling at the sitcom as if nothing had happened.
Stick glanced at me, confused. I almost felt sorry for the sociopath. His night was not going to plan.
Imitari chuckled at her TV again, and a crease formed in the middle of Stick's forehead, letting me know that he was beyond angry. He was calm, dangerous, and vicious. People had been left for dead when Stick got this way.
Stick raised his cane and flipped it so the handle jutted like a pickax. He was going to attack Imitari.
Somehow, I moved. I didn't do much, but when I slid forward and grabbed the back of Stick's shirt, the cane missed Imitari, and the sharp handle punctured the thick glass top of the counter just above a roll of Lotto scratchers.
Old lady Imitari slowly looked up into Stick's eyes and smiled. Her wide, gentle frown was replaced with a look of joy and something else, something primal, something hungry. Her pupils were blown, and I had the uneasy feeling that I was watching someone be served their absolute favorite meal.
Before Stick could pull his cane from the punctured glass, Imitari casually reached forward, grabbed the cane, and pulled the wirey man forward. Small, old, and wrinkled, Imitari stared into Stick's eyes and overpowered him.
Stick fell forward across the counter. He tried to push himself back, but Imitari's hand clamped down on his wrist like a vice.
Bones ground together as Imitari pulled Stick's hand to her mouth, and with a swift, subtle movement, she bit off the tips of Stick's pinky and ring finger like she was sampling a cookie.
I jumped back next to the cooler as a thin spray of blood arched toward me.
Stick screamed and thrashed, but Imitari's small form was static and immovable. Stick was a fly in a trap. No matter how much he struggled, punched, poked, or kicked, he could not break the old woman's hold. Then, slowly, she took another bite.
It was strangely fascinating watching the frail form of this old woman I had known for years take bite after bite out of Stick. This man, whom I thought of as a predator, a hunter, an enforcer, was crying and begging while an old woman, who looked like a wrinkled thumb in a floral top, quietly devoured him.
I was surprised by the lack of blood after the first spray. I'm sure it was Imitari's crushing grip that stanched the flow of blood. The flesh of Stick's arm looked white from the pressure.
Hand over hand, Imitari pulled Stick forward. Bones cracked as she gripped higher on Stick's arm, clamped down with her long leathery fingers, and fed the flesh and bone, one concise bite at a time, into her open smiling maw. It was rhythmical in its simplicity: chomp, crunch, chew, chew, swallow. Over and over, the pattern continued until the begging stopped.
Stick wasn't dead. He gave up. Not struggling, he laid over the glass counter like a rag doll. He watched me glassily as Imitari took bite after bite, and I knew he wasn't there anymore. Whatever made Stick Stick had either curled up and hidden in a dark corner of his mind or had been devoured with his arm.
The old woman seemed displeased that her meal had stopped struggling. She shook him, but he flopped, and his head lulled from side to side. Imitari frowned, let go of Stick's arm, and pushed down on the limp man's back. Blood gushed from the ragged stump, and Imitari lowered her mouth and drank from the wound like she was sipping from a garden hose.
Stick didn't move. He just grew pail, and eventually, his panicked, shallow breaths ended, and the blood stopped flowing.
Then Imitari stood. With a quick tug, she pulled Stick's body over the counter and let it flop to the floor at her feet. Her eyes closed. A contented smile bloomed on her face as the explosive sound of crunching and cracking bones echoed through the small shop.
The deafening sound of crunching stopped, and only the buzzing of the drinks cooler reverberated through the small space. Imitari opened her eyes and watched me, a broad smile still on her lips. At that moment, I realized I could hear the drinks cooler so well because I had crawled into it, wedged between the glass door and the shelves.
Imitari held me with her gaze as cords of pink flesh lowered from the ceiling and efficiently tidied up Stick's mess, lapping up blood and hot sauce, placing cans on shelves, and scooping up cups of ramen with whip-like tendrils. Then, the cords of flesh nudged me forward, and I stood before Old Lady Imitari.
The thing that I had always thought of as a stern old woman handed me Stick's cane. With the same benign smile I remembered from buying red hots from it as a ten-year-old, it waved me away with its flyswatter, and the cords of flesh pushed me out the door onto the sidewalk.

UK based.
Thirteenth post in my accountability series. Using this as a progress diary since startihg my weight loss journey on 12th Feb 2024.
Started the week at 154.2 (down 1.6lbs from) 155.8 the week before.
Now this has been an interesting week to say the least. With 3 weeks left on MJ (I can’t afford to do any longer) I wanted to push the boundaries a little. I wanted to see what wiggle room I have.
I’ve made some real changes with walking, drinking water and portion size, to the point that my body water % is up 3% since making my health a priority, and my average daily steps has doubled. Now this isn’t to say I’m not going to continue with these great habits, but I wanted to see how affected I’d be if I didn’t do these things consistently.
This week I switched out some of my water for lightly flavoured sparkling water on occasion (think appletiser) and had a glass or two of Prosecco a few weeks after work with my husband (had a few days of work and was feeling a lot more chilled than usual).
Brother in law stayed over from Wednesday to Friday. Even though he’s very health conscious, I think his presence threw things off food wise in the house. Husband was more keen to get takeaway and snacks. It’s not necessarily because bro in law wants them, but I think husband feels happy and at peace when he’s around and fully relaxes. I love that, but not necessarily the food effect. I stayed eating the way I have but I had a KFC drum stick and some small chips (very delicious treat, but definitely more than enough).
Husband has been very congratulatory about my weight loss. I wanted us to go through this together as we were both unhealthy, overweight and have been through the rigmaroles of weight loss countless times, but he wasn’t ready. After bro in law left on Friday, and seeing my progress husband spoke to me about being interested in MJ. I’m excited for him if it’s a step he chooses to take.
We had Mexican for dinner on Friday after dropping our little one off at my parents house. I stuck to two appetisers which were protein and salad heavy and seasoned with lime for extra flavour. Delicious. What a relief it is to eat with my stomach instead of my eyes. I’m no longer exhausted thinking about food, I know how much will satisfy me and I don’t go beyond that, because why would I?
Saturday morning rolled round. Husband and I were busy and some friends very kindly offered to look after our dog overnight. We dropped him off and they were very surprised and congratulatory about my weight loss. We see them every few weeks but now the weather is changing, I’m not bundled in jumpers like usual and I guess my weight loss really showed. I didn’t really know what to say! I think I’m almost getting a little embarrassed now. I think I need to work on saying thank you, and knowing that that’s a full and complete sentence. Baby steps with that I guess.
On Saturday afternoon I had a big brunch that was booked from a few months ago and lovely fried rice dish and unlimited Prosecco / woo woo drinks for a few hours. I happily ate my portion of food, taking my time to chew eat and enjoy, rather than wolfing it down like I used to. The flavour was delicious and I really enjoyed it and had time to think about how much I was enjoying it. It’s wild that I didn’t do this before.
Now the drinks… I read a lot on Reddit and otherwise about the averse side effects people have even after a couple of light alcoholic drinks, so I’ve always been cautious about have 0-1 drinks if I do have a drink with MJ. Hand on heart, I lost count after 6 Proseccos, and had a few more in the pub afterwards. I had a small glass of water between drinks when I could remember. I was fully expecting to throw up or have a terrible tummy, but I write this now at 6:47am on a Sunday morning, waking up happy and well rested without even a whiff of a hangover, ready to resume my regular schedule (MJ shot, walk, healthy eating). I think I had a lucky escape, but it definitely isn’t something I’m in a rush to repeat. But a part of me wonders if I’m ok because of all the changes I’ve made. This is now a little blip rather than the norm.
I’m not really sure what my update is about today other than surprise. My son is with his grandparents for the weekend, and I guess I had a big relax. But I’m ready to get back to normal. It’s so interesting how aware I am of how my diet has changed. This would be something I could mindlessly do on a Friday and Saturday without thinking before. It wouldn’t have been an active choice.
Looking in the mirror, I like what I see and how I feel. I’ve readjusted my goal weight again since I feel I look good now (and looking good on the inside according to my stats), so would be happy with the top of the range. I’m really focussed on body recomposition and have started a home programme of 20 minutes of exercise after the little one has gone to bed.
As I expected, there’s nothing interesting to report stat wise, but I enjoyed the week.
SW: 184.4 lbs CW: 153.1 lbs WoW Loss: 1.1 lbs GW: 145-150 with tone/muscle 💪🏾
SW fat percentage: 36% why Last Week fat percentage: 31.4% CW fat percentage: 30.8%
SW visceral fat: 11 Last week visceral fat: 7 CW visceral fat: 7
SW metabolic age: 38 Last week metabolic age: 34 CW metabolic age: 34
Ready for next week ✨

So there is a society a bit away from mine with a group of strays, they bark at people passing by at times. They are very thin and I'd like to feed them.
Problem is, I'm scared of dogs, and will be going there alone (tried asking but no one to accompany me), and thus worried that while I am taking out 5 different tiffins for the 5 of them, they might get impatient and start leaping at me for more food (like in the meanwhile).
If it were one or two dogs it could've been manageable, but with 5 of them sitting together, I feel like by the time I manage to take out food for 1 of them from my container, the others will leap at me for more food.
Eventually, when I'm able to earn their trust, I guess I wouldn't have to worry about this, but for now, can u guys give me creative solutions to tackle this?
P.Sv A version of the above has happened with me before with two other dogs nearby, which is why I'm a bit apprehensive about how to approach.

So there is a society a bit away from mine with a group of strays, they bark at people passing by at times. They are very thin and I'd like to feed them.
Problem is, I'm scared of dogs, and will be going there alone (tried asking but no one to accompany me), and thus worried that while I am taking out 5 different tiffins for the 5 of them, they might get impatient and start leaping at me for more food (like in the meanwhile).
If it were one or two dogs it could've been manageable, but with 5 of them sitting together, I feel like by the time I manage to take out food for 1 of them from my container, the others will leap at me for more food.
Eventually, when I'm able to earn their trust, I guess I wouldn't have to worry about this, but for now, can u guys give me creative solutions to tackle this?
P.Sv A version of the above has happened with me before with two other dogs nearby, which is why I'm a bit apprehensive about how to approach.

Hey there, potential co-adventurer! I've finally come to terms with the fact that I can't navigate this crazy world alone. If you can handle a guy who thinks he's funnier than he actually is (spoiler: I'm not), and you have a tolerance for puns so bad they should be considered a form of torture, then we might just be a match made in heaven. Or at least in the comedy section of heaven.
Picture this: you, me, and a Netflix queue longer than the line at the DMV. If you're the type of person who can appreciate the finer things in life, like a well-timed movie reference or a perfectly executed dad joke, then congratulations, you've passed phase one of the compatibility test. Now, let's move on to phase two: spontaneous adventures. Bonus points if you have a secret map to buried treasure hidden in your sock drawer.
Let's talk food. Are you the kind of person who can appreciate both a gourmet meal and a midnight snack consisting of leftover pizza straight from the fridge? Do you have a sixth sense for finding the best hole-in-the-wall restaurants in town? If so, I bow down to your culinary prowess and offer my services as official taste tester and dishwasher extraordinaire.
Here's the deal: I'm not interested in playing mind games or pretending to be someone I'm not. If you're looking for a genuine connection with someone who's as real as it gets (flaws and all), then you've come to the right place. Life's too short to waste on fake personalities and small talk about the weather. Let's skip the BS and dive straight into the good stuff.
Speaking of good stuff, let's talk about conversation. Are you the type of person who can keep up with my rapid-fire wit and obscure pop culture references? Can you hold your own in a debate about whether a hot dog is a sandwich or if aliens walk among us disguised as house cats? If so, prepare yourself for some epic banter sessions and maybe even a few intellectual debates (spoiler alert: I'll probably lose).
So, if you're ready to embark on a journey filled with laughter, adventure, and the occasional existential crisis, then send me a message with your best joke and a fun fact about yourself. Let's see if we can create some unforgettable memories together, starting with the time we both got lost in a grocery store trying to find the aisle with the pickles.

As the title says I've been getting unsolicited advice, comments, and tips from folks who don't even have cats.

• TLDR; folks keep telling me how low maintenance cats are and I'm doing "too much". Any advice on telling them to back off or a better way to make them understand? Kindly if possible.

A little history; I've had my cat (4yF) for about 1.5yrs and she's indoor only in my apartment. She is microchipped, wears a color with my info and a small tag that says microchipped and indoor cat (one on each side). I don't let her go outside. I plan to get a cat buggy but that's well in the future. She eats mainly wet food bc we're trying to lose a little weight (15lbs right now), and I have her on a feeding schedule.
Now I've had to do some traveling this past two weeks and my sister and I have been coordinating to make sure one of us is always with the cat and she gets her food, playtime, and pets. Family and friends asked my why can't you stay longer? Why do you have to go home to your cat? I explained the above to them. In return, I get the below advice/tips/comments:
• "Just put out a bunch of dry food. I know someone that does that and they travel a lot. Their cat is fine."
• "She never goes outside? She's in a cage. You need to let her go outside."
• "That's a fat cat."
• "Cats are low maintenance. You're doing too much."
• "She can be alone for some time. She'll be fine."
• "Dogs are way harder to manage. I can get going home to a dog, but a cat? It can't be that much."
• "You're spoiling her. She can be alone."
• "I never got a sitter for my cat when I left her alone for a week."
Do y'all get these types of comments/advice? How do you respond and discourage folks from giving them unprovoked? I'd love to hear any stories or comments or advice y'all have gotten from folks, too. Thanks!

We have a male springer spaniel (field) who is turning 3 years old tomorrow and for the last two years he has been suffering from horrible allergies.
His symptoms include ear infections, hot spots, red swollen anus (infected from licking once), skin tags, scabbing, goopy eyes, hair falling off of his eyes, and full body rashes (worse on his chest).
We have done EVERYTHING and I am desperate for something that could possibly help him suffer less. He currently eats a hydrolized allergy diet with NO treats and/or scraps, we bath him in an allergy shampoo weekly, he gets medicated powder on his belly, ears cleaned with preventative solution weekly, and he has tried pills (which we stopped because they weakened his immune system and he got kennel cough 3x) and the allergy shots.
I feel horrible and hate that he suffers like this. It seems as though once we have it under control, a new symptom starts. We have been under the care of a vet who is lovely, but isn’t sure what’s causing his allergies and we have an appointment booked with a dog dermatologist in 3 months (waiting list was insane).
Has anyone else had these problems? How do you help your dogs? If it’s helpful, we are located in the southeastern USA.