#797; In which a Cat gets Out

Comic Transcripts

[[A rigid sign is posted on a post. We can’t read the middle section because the print is two small, but the top and bottom parts read thusly:]]
LOST CAT
Adult Shorthair
“Sir Whiskerbuns”
White with Black
Lithe & Graceful
Penetrating Eyes
Soul of a Poet
CALL 292-2511

[[A closer shot of the same sign lets us read the finer print.]]
A regal manner that harkens to the days when cats were the consorts of kings. A true prince of the evening and lord of the morning sun. Muscles firm and sinewy beneath a coat more velvet than fur. A friend – nay, a brother! – in times of direst need, for with calm and insistent devotion has Sir Whiskerbuns purred me through many an ebb soul-tide. An avatar of grace; an earthly vessel containing a spark of the divine I often wonder if Sir Whiskerbuns is truly a demigod taken a mean feline form.

[[Someone in a dress reads the sign, which we can now see is mounted to an old-style lamppost. A cat, Sir Whiskerbuns, sits nearby on the sidewalk.]]
Sir Whiskerbuns: Dude I ran AWAY from that house

{{header: pine for WONDERMARK.COM}}
{{alt-text: His yowls, when I place my homemade Helmet of Nobility upon his furry head, are like the cries of an angel being stuck with Christ’s own spear. His claws are the claws that the Lord would have, if the Lord had had claws.}}

#797; In which a Cat gets Out transcribed by in

[[Someone in a dress reads the sign, which we can now see is mounted to an old-style lamppost. A cat, Sir Whiskerbuns, sits nearby on the sidewalk.]]
Sir Whiskerbuns: Dude I ran AWAY from that house

#797; In which a Cat gets Out transcribed by in

[[A rigid sign is posted on a post. We can't read the middle section because the print is two small, but the top and bottom parts read thusly:]]
LOST CAT
Adult Shorthair
"Sir Whiskerbuns"
White with Black
Lithe & Graceful
Penetrating Eyes
Soul of a Poet
CALL 292-2511

[[A closer shot of the same sign lets us read the finer print.]]
A regal manner that harkens to the days when cats were the consorts of kings. A true prince of the evening and lord of the morning sun. Muscles firm and sinewy beneath a coat more velvet than fur. A friend - nay, a brother! - in times of direst need, for with calm and insistent devotion has Sir Whiskerbuns purred me through many an ebb soul-tide. An avatar of grace; an earthly vessel containing a spark of the divine I often wonder if Sir Whiskerbuns is truly a demigod taken a mean feline form.

[[Someone in a dress reads the sign, which we can now see is mounted to an old-style lamppost. A cat, Sir Whiskerbuns, sits nearby on the sidewalk.]]
Sir Whiskerbuns: Dude I ran AWAY from that house

{{header: pine for WONDERMARK.COM}}
{{alt-text: His yowls, when I place my homemade Helmet of Nobility upon his furry head, are like the cries of an angel being stuck with Christ's own spear. His claws are the claws that the Lord would have, if the Lord had had claws.}}

His yowls, when I place my homemade Helmet of Nobility upon his furry head, are like the cries of an angel being stuck with Christ's own spear. His claws are the claws that the Lord would have, if the Lord had had claws.