Last night, as I was making a valiant attempt at being a decent person (read: trying to ink a strip, for once in my lazy, procrastinating life), my cat decided he deserved far more attention than he was receiving. With a single, well-aimed flick of the tail, he sent an entire bottle of ink flying. One hour, half a bottle of bleach and an entire bottle of Windex later, most of the ink was cleaned, leaving the walls, ceiling, table, floors and refrigerator tinted gray.

Moral of the story? Cats and ink don’t mix.

Sidenote. Things I am no good at:
– hatching
– cross-hatching
– cross-cross-hatching
– cross-hatching-hatching
– making little lines to imply value

Sorry internets! I am a rotten artist.

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