Thomas got a new box of cookies. Piglet got a new Fortress of Solitude. Everybody’s happy, more or less.
Piglet is obsessed with my work space. He likes to shred the paper in the hanging basket, and occasionally he throws the pens and washi tape out of my little art tote so that he can sit in it.
Piglet has a new fortress of solitude.
Piglet just can’t even.
I love it when Piglet curls up his tail.
I think he was watching deer.
Not that he’ll heed it.
The world’s most perfect cat has one terrible habit. She likes to chew on cords and cables and ribbons. She’s killed dozens of pairs of headphones, and all my fancypants books with ribbon book markers have been wrecked by her.
All your dog bed are belong to Polly.
I bought that mat for myself, but Piglet commandeered it, and I could hardly argue.
When your staff interrupts you while you’re cleaning your knives.
Occasionally they put aside their mutual antipathy long enough for me to snap a photo.