Hobbes is a bit smaller than most cats. It took me and my mother a while to realize that as he was a stocky, barrel-chested grouch who walked like a football player trying to get a modeling career on the catwalk. When we adopted my brother’s declawed ginger, we found out that Hobbes’ tsundere attitude didn’t mean much when George was chasing him all over the place and stealing his food and nap spots.
There was a brainless clown who stripped naked and stood on a cafeteria table at Brandeis University. He held up a bottle of feces and explained that the food served in this cafeteria was excrement. He then started throwing the feces all over the cafeteria. I believe he was expelled from school, but I do not know whether or not his parents got any tuition money back. I wanted to, I really did. Hobbes was a cantankerous, grumpy furball until he learned to enjoy head scratches and tolerate being held. But he was my cantankerous, grumpy furball whom I loved petting and smothering giggles as he waggled his little bobtail like a ticked off bunny rabbit. There were a few problems with that though.