I’d like to say that Jake came home, like, that he hopped right through the window and went straight to his food bowl. I’d like to say that he missed us! But I can’t. Because apparently, at some point last night, our friend Andy saw Jake in the yard, cooed him into submission, then hauled him, yowling, back into the apartment. There was no happy reunion, no friendly hellos, just fur and claws and angst. Or so I imagine. Whatever the case, yay! Jake’s home! Even if he doesn’t want to be!
Aww, Jake. Here’s to many more years of you pissing on our shit.
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