Baby Wallace, interrupted in the middle of morning ablutions says: A Little Privacy Please! To which I reply, dude, this is payback for all those times you stare at me while I'm in the middle of mine. Seriously, Baby Wallace, you watch me brush my teeth or take a wee and the look on your face is simply . . . haunted. Why, Baby Wallace? Why???
This is Baby Wallace's pirate impression. He's only interested in the seafaring life for the tuna. And the rum.
Aaaargh, matey. Where's the grog?
Jacinta just wants to know why the hell I brought in all these kittens and their head biting and paw smacking and food stealing and the poops, oh my god the poops.
Baby Emmaline and Dastardly Malcolm, so busted. (interrupted in the middle of one of their clandestine meetings about various snuggle & head lock techniques, the pros and cons of eating furniture, and whether or not to begin Tiny Weasel Revolution for World Dominance today or tomorrow or maybe later on this week if they keep getting access to plain whole milk organic yogurt. And cheese. Cheese figures prominantly in Tiny Weasel Revolution for World Dominance.)
Dastardly Malcolm, when his dastardly has caught up with him.
Baby Wallace says: those damm kittens work my last nerve . . .
Emmaline, a cautionary tale on the effects of getting high . . .
It ain't easy being weaselly . . . but obviously these are pros . . .