Your cat already thinks he’s the king of the house, might as well make him a Time Lord with this Tardis cat condo on Etsy. (Credit: MonksHomefurnishings/Etsy) Humans aren’t the only ones who can fly the Tardis. Remember Tom Baker’s robot dog companion K-9? Well, now your cat can have fun napping in everyone’s favorite blue police box from “Doctor Who” with this Tardis cat condo made by MonksHomefurnishings on Etsy. Related stories Scientist: Cats think you are just a big, stupid cat The cat Tardis is custom-made from plywood and carpet, and is built to order. It stands 47 inches high, 18 inches wide, and 19 inches deep. There are three levels for the cat to sleep and play on. “The look of this Tardis is based upon the 1980’s “Doctor Who” series where it has that beat up/ traveling through time distressed look,” MonksHomefurnishings writes on Etsy. At $695, the kitty Tardis isn’t cheap, but it does come with free shipping in the US. Since cats have nine lives, and Time Lords have even more, there’s no telling what kind of trouble you and your cat can get into with this thing. Just remember to bring snacks and watch out for Daleks. This “Doctor Who” Tardis cat condo may not be bigger on the inside than the outside, but it does have three levels. (Credit: MonksHomefurnishings)
Third-Generation Doctor Questions the Profession
Who knows? But when you’re in the thick of it, I think I don’t know a doctor my age who doesn’t second guess it.” But Michael does love being a doctor. He talks about seeing a teenage girl he worked on up and walking around again after a car accident that nearly killed her. He says knowing he helped save her life is immeasurably gratifying. “I’ve always looked at it as … a higher level calling. I think there’s a couple jobs like that, and they would be teachers, and they would be clergy, and they would be doctors,” Michael says. “And you know that what you’re doing is absolutely good for the world, and it’s a good feeling no matter how exhausted you are.” But the life and death nature of the work takes a toll, he says. “I don’t know how many days I’ve gone home after some pretty tragic nights at this hospital and collapsed crying into my wife’s arms because it was really sad what happened the night before, and all you can do is, like, you know, at least you were there trying to help.” His father gently chimes in, “I don’t know if anybody could say it better than that. It is a calling.” Stepping out of an elevator and through the hospital’s glass doors, into the cold but cheerful winter sunshine, Michael and Robert Sawyer walk to a small brick courtyard near the entrance where patients and their families can take a break from the noise inside. It’s paved with inscribed bricks, which the hospital sells to raise money. Michael’s kids had a garage sale, and he told them they had to donate half their earnings to charity. His 12-year-old son bought a brick. “It says ‘Sawyer Family,’ ” Michael reads.