Last year was less the bee’s knees and more the rat’s droppings. This I know despite missing the first month and a half on account of not having been born yet. I wish you a Happy New Year, and may you find joy on a personal level, for this year is bound to be as dreadful, or worse still, than 2017, a gift that keeps on giving like a litter box full of buried feces.
On this most cheerful of notes, I invite you to come back a couple of times a week to catch up with my feline musings on a wide range of topics, such as canned food, chinchillas, and video games, and to endure, as I do, the pictures my humans insist on taking constantly.
Ever, Mr. Biscuit