My brilliant dissertation on JAWS 2:
Not enough people get eaten.
The End.
And between you and me, I think I prefer the sailboat art over the happy water-skier that’s about to get munched.
After years and years of observed behavior that absolutely defied all feline logic, I always had a sneaking suspicion that my dear old cat wasn’t a cat at all but some kind of shape-shifting alien who happened to gene-lock on the first assimilated creature it came into contact with. Either that or some kind of badger-skunk-water-rat hybrid of a Moreau-nian nature. Regardless of origin, over those same years she grew very, very dear to me. And after fifteen years of co-habitation, I lost my boon companion due to mounting medical woes. And I still miss her. I still miss her a lot.
”No Heaven will not ever Heaven be.
Unless my cats are there to welcome me.”
— Anonymous
Wrigley
(1996-2011)