It’s a good thing I don’t have a job or else I’d look like the Thompson cat after being chased through the brambles behind old lady Tucker’s house. You two-leggers don’t appreciate the work that goes into looking good when your entire body is covered with fur. Sure, you all have a little tuft on top of your head, but that’s nothing compared to me, a full-figured, fluffy Samoyed with my arctic white fur shining as if glistening with morning dew. And I’m beginning to wonder if that tuft of yours might be a wig, since more and more of you are going without, mostly men, and when I smell the women’s hair it smells very similar to what my two-legger uses to clean up my wee-wee. I don’t know what you use to clean a wig but you might use that. You certainly wouldn’t use wee-wee cleaner on your own hair, or maybe you all would. The odd stuff you do never ceases to amaze me. Continue reading “Snake Oil”
Gnawing the Bone 