I don’t know where this comic idea came from but I have some deep scratches on my hand that speak of some sort of horrific belly rubbing accident in my past that I’ve suppressed.
My cats look pleased with themselves. Or at least the little evil one does. The big one mostly just sleeps.
It’s December, the time of the year where most of western civilization ritually adorns their homes in tinsel and dead trees in the hopes of appeasing a jolly red god who watches their every move and seems to be able to come down their chimney even if they don’t have one.
I hope for your sake you leave out the good biscuits.