t used to be that Zoom made ordinary people briefly notorious for two reasons: either they were inappropriately dressed for the digital workplace (such as the lawyer who attended a virtual hearing shirtless, and was reprimanded by the judge), or they had failed to locate the mute/video off button at a very unfortunate moment (like the director who was caught talking disparagingly about an actor’s apartment). As another, hopefully final lockdown trundles on, this Return of the King of third acts – essential, but dreary and interminable – has caused Zoom to evolve. We are now entering its surreal late period. Jackie Weaver walked so Rod Ponton could run. If the chattering classes spent the first half of the week discussing the Handforth parish council meeting that went awry in a storm of tempers and petty point-scoring, then the world was tickled warmly by Ponton, the lawyer from Texas who, on Zoom, presented himself to the judge as a cat. The brief, sweet video suggested a rising panic in Ponton’s voice as he insisted to the court that he was not a cat, all the while appearing on screen as a talking kitten on the brink of tears. “I’m here live. I’m not a cat,” he said, which is exactly what a cat attempting to sneak into a court hearing would say. Ponton eventually revealed himself to be human, and he could see the funny side. “It’s provided a good laugh for the country,” he told Radio 4’s Today programme, goodnaturedly, via Zoom, of course, looking very much like an adult man, though I was half-hoping he might miaow his way through the interview. A recording of the hearing showed a small reminder in the top left of the screen that recording the hearing was prohibited and might result in a fine or jail term. A price worth paying – I’m sure those of us who spent the latter half of the week muttering “I’m here live, I’m not a cat” to cheer themselves up would happily chuck in a fiver for the person who saw its potential. Ponton’s mishap was a pure delight, the new Julie’s iPad, an unexpectedly joyful burst of entertainment in the most mundane of settings. I started watching the US version of The Office for the first time last week, to fill an unforgivable gap in my television knowledge. For years, friends had been telling me I would love it. I did, and do, but I am starting to feel as if the world is becoming one giant workplace comedy, a collection of scenes written for The Office that never got filmed. We are all here live. We are not a cat. Watching Buffy will never be the same again It wasn’t as if it was a surprise, but the allegations of mistreatment made by Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel star Charisma Carpenter against Joss Whedon, who created both shows, were a depressing read. She said he was cruel and abusive; several other Buffy and Angel stars have since come forward to support her account. She said she went public after Justice League star Ray Fisher accused Whedon of abusive and unprofessional behaviour. That was last summer. The rumours had been circulating for longer. Few Buffy fans could claim this comes as a shock. It is hard to hear, nonetheless. Buffy was about a teenage girl who saved the world (a lot). It was about misfits triumphing over evil. In interviews, Whedon used to say he was a feminist. I’ve heard that countless times before. It is usually a red flag for men who turn out to be anything but. Will it be possible to watch the series now, and not think about the sourness beneath it? It is an increasingly common conundrum, to wonder if we will be able to enjoy the art without considering the unpalatable nature of its creation, and I am never sure how it will feel in a harsh new light. There are few TV series that meant so much to so many as Buffy. To see that washed away would be heartbreaking. In response to the news, Sarah Michelle Gellar, who played Buffy, wrote: “While I am proud to have my name associated with Buffy Summers, I don’t want to be forever associated with the name Joss Whedon.” Maybe it is a copout, but I wonder if the same could be applied to the show itself. Mary Beard: wiser and funnier by far Writing about the dark arts in Radio Times, which is a fabulous thing to do, Mary Beard argued that society still uses the term “witch” as an insult, masking a broader anxiety about older women, and what to do with women once they are past the age of child-rearing. “As I can confirm, women with long grey hair can make people anxious,” she wrote, adding that she had frequently been called a witch herself on Twitter. I feel sorry for people (and I’m saying people, although I can’t imagine there are many women furtively typing the word “witch” at a professor of classics who has the audacity to be a television presenter) who feel this way, for whom the thought of an older woman conjures up such insecurity. When it comes to interviewing celebrities, I am always thrilled when I am asked to speak to any famous women over the age of 60. I am generalising wildly here, I know, but in my experience they have more stories, better stories, and are far more likely to be comfortable with who they are. What’s more, they tend to be far, far funnier. Give me a witch any day. Rebecca Nicholson is an Observer columnist