This morning, at 0530, we found that we had dug too deep, that things had gone too far. A chamber was broken into. We descended into the darkness, the absence of light so oppressive that the darkness felt like ink on our skins. We descended into madness. This is how it felt, anyway, as we …
I do not know if the culprit was Fezzik, who likes eating plastic, or Vorenus, who likes eating carbohydrates. It would seem evident, though, that I was in need of a reminder not to neglect anything that I might eventually want to eat.
On a recent jaunt to the Louvre, we discovered a plush hippo that looks as indignantly unhappy as Fezzik does. Not being people to miss an opportunity…
If a pillow slides down a chair, and a cat is not there to sit on it, does anyone notice? Fezzik witnessed such a furniture shift. and didn’t hesitate to take advantage; he now refuses to sit on the chair unless the pillow is horizontal.
Accusations of anthropomorphizing their relationship aside, Vorenus has a friend. Said friend is a crow that perches atop the church steeple, cawing to Vorenus, who then takes his place on the top of the cat tree and proceeds to chat at said crow. Should several days without an encounter pass, Vorenus will sit on top …
According to the substitute veterinarian, who lavished our resident giant with affection, Fezzik is not simply a fatass whose genetic wheel-of-fortune landed on “bon sang, this one is going to be fucking huge.” Rather, moose/beef/fat tuna/happy sushi/hey pig/piggles/fromage/pork (Fezzik has an incredible number of nicknames, owing to his eminent nicknamability) is an apparently-pure large variant …
Ockham would ascribe my predicament to the glass on the table, but I should note that I don’t feel like the empty bottles of prosecco are sufficient to explain why I appeared to be drinking with one of the cats.
I was doing more or less the same thing last week.
Fezzik In Paris 