They finally caught up with Vito “Babyface” Catalano. He’s doin’ time now, for leaving the scene of an accident.
Excuse us? Why that is just the most offensive thing we’ve ever heard! How dare you call us sweater puppies!
The cats’ meows, Stephen A.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Which one of us would also make a great pie?”
Scaredy cats, Alicia M.
Witness the majestic landscape that surrounds us: The blue skies. The lush ravines. The deep, clear waters. Carl, the world is your oyster…so stop being such a damn barnacle!!!
Forwarded by Brinke G.
Shirley, I don’t know what’s going on with us, but there just seems to be this…space between us.
Surely, they ingest, Jeanne.
As much as I try to resist it, the overwhelming urge just completely takes over, and before you know it, my right paw is in and I’m shaking it all about!
I wonder what happens when he hears “The Chicken Dance”, Dominique C.?
Wakey-wakey eggs and bakey.
Deer God, I hope that’s my mother behind me.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who you callin’ a gazelle.
If someone would please remove these roller skates from my feet, I’ll get up and walk away gracefully.
I am much, much prettier than you.
What do you call this magical land where rubber duckies inexplicably fall from trees?
Sender-inner Emily B. writes: I’m working at a whitetail deer ranch this summer, and we’re bottle-raising all the doe fawns. So far we have 46 fawns on the bottle. They’re all incredibly cute, pushy, and they’re all named: The pictures of the fawn in the grass are of His Majesty, who we’ve been nursing back to health. He’s a spoiled brat, but he’s so small and fuzzy that he gets away with a lot; the staring one is Eowyn (she’s a little crazy); the two curled up next to each other are Diana and Wren; and finally, the brand spanking new baby is Clementine being licked clean by her mama, Trey.