Tag Archives: Thomas

Thomas is my little barnacle. Wherever I am, and whatever I’m doing, he’s right there, “helping.”

Act I: We creep on the neighbors while holding our stuffy. Mustn’t put the precious down.

Act II: We’re tired of staff’s nonsense and are retiring to our napping lounge with our stuffy.

I think he actually was watching television.

Once again, Thomas hid his favorite squeaky ball under the couch, and once again I was a monster and didn’t retrieve it for him. He reserves the chiclet teefs of maximum perturbation for when he’s seriously annoyed with me.

Someone left a half-eaten milano cookie in the shrubbery outside the front door of my building. Thomas was really disappointed when I wouldn’t help him reach it.

Tiny baby dinosaur. Ferocious.

Poor biscuit had to go for a walk, and I wouldn’t let him eat the Hot Pocket he found in a ditch because I’m a monster. And then when we got home, I wouldn’t play with him. He was having he worst day ever.

The poor baby bear gets a dinner plate coated with peanut butter, to occupy him while I trim his nails. He hates it though, and no amount of bribery will make him believe he isn’t being tortured.