Latest news with #Tigger
Newsweek
22-07-2025
- General
- Newsweek
Senior Dog Left at Shelter Is Hours From Euthanasia, Then a Miracle Happens
Based on facts, either observed and verified firsthand by the reporter, or reported and verified from knowledgeable sources. Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content. With just hours left before he would be euthanized, a 12-year-old dog lay on the floor of his overcrowded shelter—unaware that the clock was ticking on his final day. But then, something remarkable happened: a viral video led to a last-minute act of rescue that changed everything. "Tigger had been surrendered to the shelter in Atlanta, Georgia," Erica Perets, founder of the nonprofit RescueMeATL, told Newsweek. "Because of the shelter overpopulation crisis, he unfortunately quickly made the euthanasia list." The moment Perets met Tigger, she knew she had to act. "When I heard that no one had shown interest in him, I went to meet him—hoping I could create content that might help get him seen and saved," she said. "What I found was the sweetest old soul. Watching him slowly get up off the shelter floor was heartbreaking." On June 25, Perets shared a video of Tigger on Instagram through her nonprofit's account, @rescueme_atl. The post, which has since been viewed more than 138,000 times and liked over 10,000 times, struck a deep emotional chord with viewers. In it, Tigger is seen walking gingerly around an outdoor kennel at Fulton County Animal Services. The accompanying caption offered a deeply personal reflection, drawing a poignant contrast between the senior dog's bleak reality and the comfort another dog had once known. "So when I saw Tigger, I almost didn't wake him, because his dreams had to be better than here," the caption read. "But when he saw he had a visitor, he instantly tried to pop up, but instead slipped on the kennel floor, and all I could think about is that he deserved beds, yoga mats, and warm baths, instead of achey bones, slipper floors, and crying dogs." The post concluded with an urgent plea: "If you can give 12-year-old Tigger his senior years he deserves please come quickly because he's out of time. Deadline tomorrow Thursday 6/26 at 7 p.m." From left: Tigger the senior dog struggles at an animal rescue shelter in Georgia; and looks happy after being adopted. From left: Tigger the senior dog struggles at an animal rescue shelter in Georgia; and looks happy after being adopted. @rescueme_atl Fortunately, the response to the video was immediate and overwhelming. "People from all over reached out wanting to help," Perets said. Among them was a person who ultimately became Tigger's adopter—just in time to save his life. "Today, Tigger is living out his golden years with spa days, home-cooked meals, and all the love he deserves," she said. The post, while celebrating one dog's rescue, also served as a powerful reminder of the stakes facing thousands of others in shelters across the U.S. For many viewers, it opened their eyes to the heartbreaking reality of euthanasia in overcrowded facilities—and the life-saving impact of visibility, compassion, and timely action. "Imagining my dog in his place was enough to break me," Perets said. "I knew I had to tell Tigger's story." Do you have funny and adorable videos or pictures of your pet you want to share? Send them to life@ with some details about your best friend and they could appear in our Pet of the Week lineup.
Euronews
17-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Euronews
Why is Disney suing a Hong Kong jewellery company?
The Walt Disney Co. has said it is suing a Hong Kong jewellery company due to the illegal sale of Mickey Mouse ornaments. The international media and entertainment conglomerate filed a lawsuit in federal court in Los Angeles on Wednesday against the Red Earth Group, which sells jewellery online under the name Satéur. Disney says the marketing and branding of the rings, necklaces and earrings in Satéur's 'Mickey 1928 Collection' violate its trademark rights and that the Hong Kong company is deliberately trying to fool customers into thinking the pieces are official Disney merchandise. Disney's lawsuit claims that Red Earth is 'intentionally trying to confuse consumers' with the 'Mickey 1928 Collection' and the impression created "suggests, at a minimum, a partnership or collaboration with Disney.' Satéur, the suit alleges, 'intends to present Mickey Mouse as its own brand identifier for its jewelry merchandise and "seeks to trade on the recognizability of the Mickey Mouse trademarks and consumers' affinity for Disney and its iconic ambassador Mickey Mouse.' The lawsuit seeks an injunction against Red Earth trading on Disney's trademark in any other way, along with monetary damages to be determined later. The lawsuit is indicative of Disney's continued efforts to protect its intellectual property from unauthorized appropriation. Although the earliest version of Mickey Mouse entered the public domain last year, the company still holds trademark rights to the character. Even if a character is in the public domain, it cannot be used on merchandise in a way that suggests it is from the company with the trademark, as Disney alleges Red Earth is doing. Mickey Mouse first appeared publicly in the short film Steamboat Willie in 1928. That version of the most iconic character in American pop culture is now free from Disney's copyright and creators are able to make use of only the more rat-like, non-speaking boat captain from Steamboat Willie. 'This is it. This is Mickey Mouse. This is exciting because it's kind of symbolic,' said Jennifer Jenkins, a professor of law and director of Duke's Center for the Study of Public Domain, last year. 'It's sometimes derisively referred to as the Mickey Mouse Protection Act,' Jenkins added. 'That's oversimplified because it wasn't just Disney that was pushing for term extension. It was a whole group of copyright holders whose works were set to go into the public domain soon, who benefited greatly from the 20 years of extra protection.' The widely publicized moment Mickey Mouse entered the public domain was considered a landmark in iconography going public. Other famous animal characters like A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh and Tigger recently joined the public domain. This resulted in several horror films like the gouge-your-eyes-out-terrible Winnie The Pooh: Blood and Honey. Predictably, Mickey Mouse was also turned into a cheaply made slasher, Mickey Mouse's Trap. It was released last August, and it turned out to be just as dreadful as the bloodthirsty ursine's movie. As of this year, two other pop culture figures entered the public domain: Popeye the Sailor can punch without permission and intrepid kid reporter Tintin can investigate freely. The two classic comic characters who first appeared in 1929 are among the intellectual properties in the public domain in the US as of 1 January 2025 - meaning they too can be used and repurposed without permission or payment to copyright holders. Certain noteworthy books also became public, including William Faulkner's 'The Sound and the Fury,' Ernest Hemingway's 'A Farewell to Arms' and John Steinbeck's first novel, 'A Cup of Gold,' from 1929. There's also British novelist Virginia Woolf's 'A Room of One's Own,' an extended essay that became a landmark text in feminism from the modernist literary luminary. Elsewhere, early works by major figures from the early sound era of moviemaking made their debut in the public domain in 2025, including Alfred Hitchcock's Blackmail – a film shown at last year's Festival Lumière in Lyon, France.
Spectator
08-07-2025
- Business
- Spectator
Meet the Stepford Employees
In my first 'proper' job after university, selling advertising space for a well-known motoring magazine in the early 1990s, one of the few things that alleviated the utter tedium was the banter. Some of the quickfire repartee was ingenious. We were nearly all graduates, intelligent and articulate. Someone would occasionally overstep the mark, but we were civilised people and so self-regulating. We knew what was acceptable and what wasn't. But for the most part, anything went. We didn't need an HR function, because, in those days, were weren't 'resources', so we didn't need someone to police our behaviour. Lunch was often liquid, nearly everyone smoked in the office, and on Friday evenings, we'd head straight to the pub and get wrecked. Our weekends were spent drinking and taking all manner of recreational drugs, and we'd appear on a Monday morning barely able to function. But we were young and having fun. Eventually, I was sacked for making repeated calls to a premium-rate number that provided updates on the First Gulf war, as well as tardiness, and generally treating the whole thing as a joke. I had subsequent jobs where bantz was pretty much unregulated. The only boundaries were self-imposed ones of taste and decency. But since the mid-2000s, I've observed with growing unease the slow but inexorable rise of a phenomenon known as 'the Stepford Employee'. The Stepford Employee is characterised by their conformity and submissiveness. Named after the Ira Levin novel and film adaptations The Stepford Wives – in which men in a suburban American town are married to docile female robots – these corporate drones have seemingly abandoned independent thought or action. Their passivity makes them afraid to speak up or offer any opinion. They suppress their individuality to fit in and avoid conflict or disapproval. As for banter, forget it – the office is now a fun-free, Puritan-like environment. Instead of chit-chat, we're limited to pleasantries exchanged at the beginning and end of the day. Any talk in between is strictly work-related. Vernacular English has been replaced by more formal language, thus reducing the opportunities for wordplay. Office jargon is intoned mantra-like with the kind of reverence usually reserved for the spiritual. Social events are awkward affairs, with polite conversation replacing raucous laughter. At a recent conference, a girl turned to me bright-eyed at the start and said, without any trace of irony: 'Are you excited?' I didn't know what to say. A simple 'no' would have been churlish. Besides, she was young and enthusiastic, and I didn't want to burst her bubble. So, I said, obliquely, 'I'm sure it will have its moments.' After listening glassy-eyed to the mangled syntax of the CEO's homily – and several dull presentations – we broke for lunch. Our new director spotted me and came bouncing over like Tigger after a generous line of coke. My face froze into a rictus smile. He had the gleam of a religious convert in his eye, and I was forced to listen to him wax enthusiastic about the latest dreary initiatives for half an hour. His enthusiasm for the mundane alarmed me. If he was faking it, he was bloody convincing. So, what or who is to blame for this? The overreach of human resources (or 'human remains' as I've heard it called rather aptly), government legislation, micromanagement, fear of being called out for triggering someone, or worse, being cancelled? About once a quarter, I meet up with a group of former colleagues, intelligent individuals who are skilled in their respective fields. Being middle-aged, they also have a healthy sense of irony, so, for an evening, we're gloriously free of the usual oppressive restrictions. The no-holds-barred conversation is like breathing deep gulps of fresh air after being starved of oxygen. Back in the office the following day, I have to remember to keep it zipped, lest I reveal myself to be a horrid old reactionary. These days, if you have a keen sense of the absurd – or any intellectual curiosity – it's best kept to yourself. It will only get you into trouble. Quiet conformity is what's expected. On the few occasions I've detected signs of unorthodoxy in others and tried to engage them in proper conversation, their eyes have searched mine pleadingly, semaphoring: 'Please don't say anything.' And so, they've been able to maintain the pretence of being a true believer. Despite the unnerving degree of quiescence seen in the workplace, Gallup's 2024 State of the Global Workplace report suggests it's not leading to increased productivity. According to the report, employee enthusiasm dropped to just 21 per cent, at a cost to the global economy of $438 billion. My tongue-in-cheek suggestion is that each organisation should have its own jester or holy fool. Someone who can say what the rest of us are thinking without getting into trouble: 'Sorry, chief, but that's bullshit.' After all, how often are any of us brave enough to point out to the emperor that he isn't wearing any clothes? This year marks the 50th anniversary of the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Based on Ken Kesey's 1962 novel of the same name, it depicts the protagonist, Randle McMurphy, played by Jack Nicholson, as a psychiatric patient who constantly challenges the authority of the hated Nurse Ratched. His antagonising of her – drinking, running card tables, smuggling in prostitutes – eventually leads to his lobotomisation. As a commentary on institutional power, the dehumanising effects of conformity, and the struggle for individual freedom and identity, it remains frighteningly germane. If this severing of the prefrontal cortex were to end, not only would we be happier, but we'f also be more productive. Gallup's report claims that if workforces became fully excited about thier jobs, the global economy could grow by $9.6 trillion. At one point, Randle McMurphy says: 'You know, that's the first thing that got me about this place, that there wasn't anybody laughing. I haven't heard a real laugh since I came through that door, do you know that?' So, let's stick it to the Nurse Ratcheds of this world and bring fun and laughter back into the workplace. Throw off the shackles that restrict creative thought and encourage freedom of expression once again. But maybe we should leave the gaming table and prostitutes where they belong – that might be a step too far.
Newsweek
01-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Newsweek
Baby's Response to Seeing Disney Character Goes Viral: 'The Excitement'
Based on facts, either observed and verified firsthand by the reporter, or reported and verified from knowledgeable sources. Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content. A baby girl's incredibly joyous reaction to meeting a Disney character in person has melted hearts of millions of people. Vanessa and her husband Keith, from Tampa, Florida, are proud parents to a 7-month-old daughter, Layla, who recently had her first trip to Disney World. And, despite having never seen Winnie the Pooh, Layla had an incredible reaction to meeting the character Tigger, and it has now been viewed by over 13.3 million people. "She's never watched Winnie the Pooh or even had a Tigger stuffed animal, so her reaction was completely pure and unprompted," mom Vanessa told Newsweek. "Layla has always been such a happy, expressive baby. We get comments all the time about her lively personality—she's been very aware of her surroundings since birth. Watching her light up when she saw Tigger was one of those magical parenting moments we'll never forget." In a video posted to Vanessa's TikTok account, @vanessaavalenciaa, on June 28, the mom holds her baby in her arms as Tigger approaches, and her reaction is instant. Baby Layla, held by her mum, has a big reaction to meeting Tigger at Disney World. Baby Layla, held by her mum, has a big reaction to meeting Tigger at Disney World. TikTok @vanessaavalenciaa Layla kicks, flails her arms, and lets out a constant, excited shout, as if she can't believe what she's seeing. She grabs onto Tigger's hands, laughing and grinning, and looks back at her mom as if to say, "are you seeing this?!" Vanessa captioned the video, liked more than 3.3 million times, "Whoever said, don't bring your baby to Disney because they won't enjoy it—don't listen to them." "A few people had mentioned that she might be too young to enjoy Disney or remember it—but seeing her reaction definitely proved otherwise," Vanessa said. "In fact, a lot of people in the comments have told us they're now planning to bring their own babies to Disney after seeing her experience." While most people's first memory is from around age 3 or 4, some people can remember things from when they were around 2 years old, according to a medically reviewed report from BabyCenter. Parents can help their children to remember early childhood events by looking at photographs together and sharing stories and memories from those moments. Layla smiles at Tigger, who plays peek-a-boo with her, right. Layla smiles at Tigger, who plays peek-a-boo with her, right. TikTok @vanessaavalenciaa TikTok users had a huge reaction, with many commenters admitting the clip had given them "baby fever," and one having to remind themselves: "Baby fever hits HARD. reminder girlies we can't afford a baby or a trip to Disney." One user posted, "Oh my goodness she can't contain her excitement," as another added: "Whoever was in that costume was probably smiling so hard." Vanessa has shared multiple clips of Layla meeting Disney characters and having an adorably over-the-top reaction, including Piglet, Eeyore, and Winnie the Pooh himself. And to other parents wondering about bringing their baby to Disney World, Vanessa said: "I always tell them that every baby is different, but you'll never know how they'll respond until you try!" Do you have funny and adorable videos or pictures you want to share? Send them to life@ with some extra details, and they could appear on our website.
Daily Mail
03-05-2025
- Health
- Daily Mail
‘I can't even stand unassisted, let alone walk, but I'm looking forward to my new life': JULIE BURCHILL has a few weeks of hospital rehab left
There's about a month to go (and about two months gone) of my projected stay in rehabilitation after life-saving surgery left me without the ability to walk. I am a puppet with severed strings; in the gym my spirit animal appears to be Orville the Duck. 'I can't!' I bleat to the physio. 'You can!' she urges me, too young to remember him. I'm looking forward to going home more than words can say. I long to be alone in my bedroom again, even if I do have to be decanted in and out of bed. There's a reason I turned down Celebrity Big Brother twice, and that came with a six-figure reward: I'm awful at living with people. Once so easy-going, I've become a tutter; I use my first breath of the morning to tut, and my last. To be fair, there's a lot to tut about. The nursing staff will turn their hands to anything; other employees, not so much. A man comes in to flush the taps and when asked if he can open a window, he says he can't but he'll find someone who can. A woman with a clipboard can't ring my emergency call-bell but she'll ask someone who will. The broken window by my bed is 'mended' with strips of Sellotape when I arrive here in midwinter – it's 'bracing'. As I cannot stand or walk, I need to be hoisted in a kind of big sling; there's only one that can be used in the bath, serving a ward of more than 20 people, and it has to be washed between uses. It does make you wonder where all the money spent on the NHS is going. Inevitably, there is camaraderie in the ward. In the morning and evening we call salutations by name to each other, like in The Waltons. Occasionally, the riffing of certain ward-mates on mobile phones on the subjects of illness and death makes me, a natural Pollyanna, somewhat exasperated. They list ailments they've had, as well as the ones friends and relations have had, then it's on to people they know who have expired from aforementioned ailments. And when they've exhausted the roster of people not in the pink, sick pets get a mention! These nuggets of nihilism are interspersed with feel-good clichés about how we are Strong Women and We Will Recover. I crave conversation about something other than sickness interspersed with fatuous positivity statements that Etsy would ban for being too saccharine. I find myself a sourpuss more and more these days; I, who used to be called Tigger by my friends. I haven't been without a catheter since the surgery and – though I felt a certain affection towards the little bag at first – after three months, taking a paperback-sized sample of my own urine around with me makes me feel like a ventriloquist with a particularly surly puppet. I no longer mess myself, but wear a nappy (great excitement when I graduated to pull-ups) and use a commode twice a day. Growing up, I was a shy girl; when my mother tasked me with buying toilet rolls I'd get boxes of tissues instead. Now that more people have seen my anus than Edmund White's, those days are gone; in my hoist I dangle happily waiting to be wiped, like a piñata full of excrement rather than gifts. I am praised by the cheerful young nurses for my promptness and productivity. 'Make me proud!' one of them instructs as she leaves me in my cubicle. Once, on a very rare occasion, I become tetchy when there is a mishap: 'I have urine on my hand!' I exclaim, like Lady Bracknell. My outrage, when for weeks the nurses have been performing the most intimate assistance for me, is ludicrous, and we all start laughing. My husband Daniel praises me for being so stoic, but I only let him visit for an hour max, so he doesn't know the half of it. I don't know of any Stoic who'd sit on a commode swearing like a Steven Berkoff character because they'd been made to wait till last for their bath. Our relationship is unusual. I know it works for many people, but I don't want to ask him to be my official carer. Though he's a lot younger than me, I've always been the tough one, health-wise, and a complete role reversal would be too much for me to handle. Because of this, I become over-brusque. When invited to ask him to the initial Patient Planning Meeting, I answered crisply, 'No, thank you – he needs to mind his own business.' At the next one, I'm very pleased he's with me. Right from the start, when we got together illicitly, the partners-in-crime motif has been strong with us, from our toothsome youth to our toothless old age. I don't want the playful element – for me, the essential ingredient to a successful intimate relationship – to be swamped by the considerable burden of being my chief carer. Just like we always met at restaurants rather than wasted time cooking – I'd rather make more money and pay for it. Nevertheless, we've become much closer. 'I see more of you now than I did when you lived ten minutes away,' he points out in hospital one day, only half-joking. It's true I like my own space, but when he leaves I cling to him and whisper, 'Please let me come home now. I'm promise I'll never be bad again.' It's done in the character of one of the menagerie of creatures who people our private language, but we both know I partly mean it as Julie. There are bad times to follow. An MRI shows that there's still some poison in there after my operation. I alternately convulse and freeze like a statue, the process waking me from my sleep. It's scary. I dream about my mum: 'Do you like my scar?' I ask her, displaying the line that goes from the nape of my neck to the top of my bum. 'No, I liked you the way you were before,' she answers. (My late mother was the sweetest of women and wouldn't have dreamt of saying this.) I awake crying and remark loudly that I'd rather be dead than live this way. They send a counsellor to talk to me. When he asks, 'Do you ever feel that your thoughts are being broadcast?' I reply chirpily, 'Only for payment!' and tell him my professional name, which, being around my age, he recognises. I answer his questions frankly for an hour and at the end I say sweetly, 'If you need more, I can be heard talking about my deepest feelings on Desert Island Discs from 2013, available on BBC Sounds.' I've appreciated my time here – principally because of the nursing staff. It's easy to fall into the 'angels' cliché but there is something superhuman about the ability of the best ones to tirelessly deal with the more harrowing and/or malodorous aspects of human life, which most of us couldn't handle for a morning, let alone every day, and so light-heartedly. They are a wonderful antidote to the common belief that human beings – especially young women – are easily traumatised or 'broken'. Only a couple out of the team of dozens act as though they find their work a bore or a chore. I ask a friend who is also unable to walk how she reconciles her situation with her former life, when we both relished them so much while other un-handicapped people moan ceaselessly and don't seem to enjoy what they have. She says, 'I know what you mean. But if you think about it, they will be miserable all their lives, despite being able-bodied, whereas we can be happy despite our bad luck.' It's a lovely bit of wisdom, backed up by that baseline happiness survey some time back, which claimed that miseries who win the lottery soon go back to being miseries while cheery types who lose their legs go back to being cheery. I can't even stand unassisted, let alone walk; I'm nevertheless looking forward to my new life with curiosity as well as trepidation. It won't be the lovely carefree one I had before but I'm going to give it everything I've got. And I'm going to learn to love it, too.
