Saturday was Nigel's birthday. It was a smashing good time - gobs of treats, company, a good movie. Once we hit the hay, Nigel started round two. I heard his claws clacking on the kitchen floor and thought nothing of it since our dogs are late night snackers.
By morning it was obvious things had gone awry. A trail of empty beer bottles and a disfigured peanut butter jar let to Truffle's playpen, where I busted Nigel (still in full-on party mode) with one of Mrs. Author's gossip mags.
Nigel: I'll never live this one down.
Author: I won't let you. I snapped a quick pic just before you fled the scene.
Nigel: Remind me to eat your socks.