Look at this face. I mean, just take in that luscious coat, that perfect countenance. Yes, dear readers, you have my permission to adore me. I am, after all, fabulous. The way that I walk to my food bowl, kneel down, and eat with such lady-like carriage–why, it’s enough to make even the most adamant non-cat people swoon. Heck, even my throw-up (my system is sensitive, after all), is arranged in lines that are mathematically perfect, the bits of kibble undigested for easiest clean up. Sigh. I am gracious even in illness.
It’s a heavy burden, all of this perfection, but God granted it to me because he knew I could not only handle the pressure of it, but do so with an illustriousness seldom witnessed in this world.
What’s that? You want to know what this has to do with the (cringe) dog? Nothing. Sometimes one must pause to fawn over such impeccable beauty, that’s all.