McLovin, the feral neighborhood cat who has pretty much turned us into his human slave family, is now doing us a good turn and modeling for our clients. For free.
Rather considerate of him, I must say, since I've been blowing $30 a month on Fancy Feast for the little furball for the last few years.
Yeah. That's right: Fancy Feast. He may have started out as a mousehunting, 'catch my own dinner and eat it raw' kind of guy, but he has evolved. Developed certain tastes and sensibilities. Now it's cushy catbeds and canned meat, circulated heat, warm laps and as much catnip as his furry little heart desires.
Who would I be to deny him? He's upwardly mobile, a cat on the move, his star is rising. And since I've turned out decidedly average and my kid is too young for me to start stage-momming things along, I plan to ride his furry little coattails for the duration.
Fat-assed Morris had his day. Now, it's time for the newer, cooler, svelter Age of McLovin. Purr on, Furface! Ka-ching-a-ding-ding!
















