[ Major Tom, a big grey tabby, is flopped on his side in a shallow cardboard box. His butt’s shoved into one corner, the opposite corner cradles his head, the curve of his spine fits neatly in between, and everything else is paws. ]
I’m rarely allowed to just toss a box outside without the boys at least investigating it. Tom, upon finishing his evaluation of this one, judged it worthy of at LEAST two months’ residency.
To be fair, it DOES fit him PERFECTLY.
[ A closeup of Tom’s massive head. He’s comprehensively asleep, the top of his head tucked into the corner of the box. He is smiling in his sleep. ]
I mean. That SMILE.
Also I think he was snoring.
Gaze upon the vastness of belleh:
[ There’s a lot of belly. Some of it’s stripey, but there’s a big pale section in the middle. That’s where he REALLY likes getting pets. ]
No, it’s not a trap.
[ His forepaws, replete with black toebeans, sit comfortably in front of him, neither tucked nor stretched. Just a bit of one thumb claw is visible. ]
& then, of course, he woke up.
[ He’s turned his head, just a bit, to face the camera. One eye is still stuck shut; the other is just barely open. The higher of his ears is pointed at the camera, casually alert, and the other is wedged into the corner of the box. Consciousness is clearly not welcome. ]