A few days, that’s all. When I drew this I wasn’t sure if I’d be taking all of July off to just…I don’t know. Nothing I’ve got planned! I can tell you that much. The comic is back on 7/8 and you’ll be in some very good paws.
If you had told me I’d still be making this comic fifteen years later, that I’d even still be alive to make this comic, that I would get way better than when I started…I’d have been weirded out that you knew where to find my comic. I mean, it’s not like the cool kids of webcomics embraced me or anything.
So it’s peanut butter time again, and I think we’ll keep doing this thing. Still have some stories to tell.
I guess this is as good a time as any to ask what kind of merchandise you’d want to see from me? What would you want to see on a shirt? Would I sell more than three copies of a book of these comics? Now’s your chance to talk to me, in case you didn’t realize you could all along. You have until June 1st.
Oh, could I tell you some stories, but they would make you mad, and that’s not what this place is for.
You would think there’d be more vets in the Bronx, NY, though. There’s only one with a two-star Yelp review and one with a three-star Yelp review nearby. All the others are more than an hour’s drive away. There are a few empty professional buildings with parking all along the road from my house to the nearest Rite-Aid. If this were a Sims game, I’d put some damn 5-star vets up in those buildings.
I watched him do this one afternoon and it killed me. I eventually went over and skritched his neck and sort of held his head being I’m too big to fit my shoulder next to his without the rest of me ending up in plants.
I have to admit one month later, I can’t find the bright side of losing my Slinky Son, but I started this year listening to Eric Idle’s audiobook Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life: A Sortabiography. I credit the Pythons for keeping me alive until black cats came into my life, and for the first week of 2019, one spent some time in my ears on those cold mornings when I was horribly aware of what was coming. Did I do my Slinky son justice? Only here in the comic. Would this be what he’d do? Obviously I think this is what he’d do. He was always singing, and sang this more than once over the years. Hell, I want this song played at my funeral.
The Kitty Can’t Cope Sacks had to have some high-grade magical nip in them, he would lick them all night, sometimes while lying on my head. The sound of his spiky tongue dragging on the nip was the best way to go to sleep. If I had a white noise machine, I’d put the recording I have of his late-night SCRAPE SCRAPE SCRAPE in there and be happy forever.