He loathes wet paws, sulking on sofa. I serve him meals on a tray.
If he did leave optic white pawprints, I would prob gloss over them as too sweet to remove
I plastercast his paws once. The wounds healed after a month, but art is for ever!
The hall is done. Six coats paint. Two pairs split trousers. Waiting for Mr C (workman, sentient being, well, one lives in hope) to arrive and pay homage to Mr C (pet and partner, sentient, face of doom).