Daily Commute - When I see a happy cat I cannot help but smile. My first experience of the happy cat was at my grandmother’s house in Toowoomba. She had a large ceramic cookie jar in the guise of a happy cat which she kept sat high on a shelf above the fridge. At the end of our visits grandma would lift it down, remove the cats head and invite us to lucky dip a biscuit out of its bulging torso. It was when I moved to London that I was reacquainted with the happy cat in the shop window I passed each day on my walk home from the London underground. The shop had five or six battery operated metallic happy cats lined up along the windowsill waving their arms in an air-punching motion. Each day I passed them I would smile and be reminded of my grandmother who had long since left us. It was the perfect antidote to any feelings of home sickness.