Someone found my shortbread and dragged it onto the floor so he could rip off the plastic. And then play with the plastic under the coffee table. Ass.
And then he just falls asleep and well you can’t stay mad at that face. I mean he has been an awesome cat so far. He’ll high five for some chicken, he submits to all sorts of squishable hugs and torture, and he’s entertaining when he walks around talking to himself. Although sometimes it sounds like he’s hurling some creative verbal abuse at me.
Oh, Sherlock, life would be dull without you. Even if it means teeth marks on my cables and random socks dragged all over the place.