I once shared space with a giant chocolate point Siamese named Mr. Huang. He was handsome beyond compare. His candy blue eyes were as big as headlights. He was tall and strong and gentle.
But Mr. Huang was like Dorothy's Scarecrow. He didn't have a brain.
He could occasionally muster up a clever game to play on Howard the dalmatian. But the two of them had to rub their fistful of synapses together really fast to make a spark. So how hard could that have been, really?
Mr. Huang thought he was hidden if he put his head under the dust ruffle of the bed. One pound of head under and the other seventeen pounds exposed. Yeah. I didn't even know you were there.
He also enjoyed a really good nap in a cardboard box. One day I came home and found him shoehorned in to a shoebox. He popped out of it like freshly risen bread dough.
And now I find out he wasn't original in even that thought.
Two points for style.
That CAN'T be comfortable.
His back is going to hurt in the morning. Or you know, late afternoon.
* Thanks to Nancy in Miami for sending me down memory lane.*