Now, we all like to eat.
Our dearly-departed Brigitte, a full-figured gal from the Bronx (much like her owner...), had, in her later years, forgotten that she'd had brekkie or din and "mehhhhhhhhhh"ed her way to largesse.
Biggie is another story.
He's only about 1.5 years old and already the size of Kansas. The photo above is about 5 months old. He's about 10 times that size now. He looks like he is ready to eat the stuffed bear. He may have.
He chases me all over the house letting me know of his displeasure surrounding my failure to feed him 24-7. Since he's missing a couple of parts, he can only squeak. By the way, those parts are flying over Denmark at 1,000 millimetres right now. (For more background on that, you will have to hear the song Zack and I created).
Since I refuse to indulge him a constant stream of free-range kibble, Biggie has been forced to become even more stealthy in his efforts to ensnare me.
Now he is hiding under my bed before I go to sleep. And then, an hour after I have begun dreaming of losing my shoe in the Hudson River whilst wearing crimson tulle, BAM!
Biggie jumps on top of me. Note that this feels the same as if someone dropped a large sack of free-range kibble on top of you. Oh, the lengths he will go to make his point, this one.
I am awakened and very, very unhappy. I can almost see his glee in the dark night but quash that by swiftly picking Biggie up and hauling him outside my bedroom door.
So I am really tired. I also have almost met my demise going down the stairs as he weaves between my legs as I descend. And this goes on all day. And now into the night.
Oh, and poor little Yoda...her bowl is also fair game, so she has to eat really quickly before the Behemoth is done with his bowl and on the prowl for more.
Squeaking all the way. By the way, he is gorgeous and we love him.
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