Story time: Years ago, when I was on the copy desks at NYT, there was a wall full of clocks set to different time zones, with city names under each one. And, at one end, a cat clock with "Cat-mandu" written under it. 1/
In 2017, NYT killed its copy desks and I became a reporter. My desk moved. A little while after that, they renovated the office. I asked someone in Facilities what was going to happen to Cat-mandu. He said Cat-mandu would be thrown out. 2/
We set up a perilous structure out of the tuffet/ottoman things that used to come with NYT desks. With my coworker spotting, I clambered up and hoisted myself on top of the cabinets and unhooked Cat-mandu from the wall. 5/
I climbed back down. I tucked Cat-mandu safely in my desk drawer. We went home. Our plans had not extended to what to do with him after we had rescued him. 6/
I was a news assistant and took a buyout in 2009 to address my lack of education. I was angry AF on behalf of all of the copy editors I knew when they displaced/re-billeted them. The venerable NYT was a better place with copy desks.
You are a “steely eyed missile man” which is a compliment of high regard from a space movie, I think maybe Gene Kranz (failure is not an option dude)? But, no matter who said it, or, if it is from a screen play of some space movie, you win the day! 🏆🇺🇸