Yesterday, after hours of snoring in his little studio bed, Bebop woke up, yawned his stinky kitten yawn and walked right onto my paint palette. Right onto a huge glop of Pthalo Blue. And the other front paw went in a dollop of Titan Buff.
The Godness of Ass!
I swooped him up, grabbed my glass of water and plunged his blue paw in it. Of all the things in the world Bebop hates most is when you touch his paws. So this action elicited a torrent of cat screams and flailing. I got paint paw prints on me, my pants and shirt, the walls, the dog, the chair, the heater, my favorite dishcloth with the baby cow on it, all over the floor -- yet miraculously -- NOT on my painting (the painting already had dirt paw prints from a few days ago when I left my studio door open and Bebop, who'd previously been on my studio roof, must have swooped in from above like a ninja just to leave me that message.)
I have no pictures and prefer not to relive it in illustration form. Only want to say that there is one naughty, rotten, slobbery, smelly, dirty, dastardly, enormous blue-footed booby for sale to the lowest bidder.