Time to break out Fala's crystal ball, or get out the stripping knives?
Wherefore art thou, Gimlet?
Parting with your fur is such sweet sorrow, so let it be done on the morrow.
Ah, but tomorrow is another day.
Less is more, but more makes me appear less. At least, that's what I've found.
Fur, fur, wonderful fur is what I have and what I am. You can tell me by my custard tail that rivals the sail on Errol Flynn's Zaca.
I am a white bit of wild fluff that rivals the cream in all the world's French pastries.
I am a wee, white ghost with bellows of billowing fur.
I am a wiry bit of Neanderthal at the moment. There is talk of baths and stripping knives ... things of which I am not the least bit fond.
When I am this furry and wild all the creatures in the yard pause to take a second look ... and then I have them.
Now I am beyond a wire fox terrier. I am a wild thing.
I am Gimlet.
Watch me disappear.
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