the great disappointment
Special thanks to all the gods for Saturday mornings. Today my subconscious got to enjoy the many and varied dreams, including one where an English acquaintance of ours won a trip to the moon and invited us along.
I kept waking before the launch, so would force myself to go back to sleep. Heck, more fun than flying in dreams would be zero gravity in space, right? Finally, it got to launch time. Just as we were entering the inexplicably water-bottle-designed shuttle, a camera crew jumped out and announced it had all been a joke for a reality show; a group of cheerleaders was going to the moon instead.
In other news, what has twenty-two toes and purrs at the sight of you?
Meet Orwell. Or if I had my way, he’d be Gavroche, named after the disarming street character in Les Miserables. (“Sounds too French,” the husband said. Well, it is French.)
Orwell has six toes on each front paw. Orwell also has six claws on each front paw. Orwell thinks Trollop’s tail is a toy. Orwell often gets walloped by Trollop.
So cute!
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He looks so little.
I really had to resist saying widdle there, and frankly I am proud of myself for not going there.
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Trollop-wallops sound fearsome.
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Walloped by Trollop. Hnar, hnar, hnar. Fearsome–and funny. Tres adorable!
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6 Toes on a cat, how unique. I hear it happens more often than we think.
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[...] always thought of myself as a compassionate guy; the correct word, however, is sucker. posted by mAtt @ 16.51 (gmt-0700)to /happiness • /insolubletagged orwell • [...]