The Devil Went Down to West Hollywood

When Marcy wakes up from a long slumber, which is quite often, she get tufts of fur sticking straight up from her ears.  I call them her Devil Horns.  Mr. Candy calls them “embarrassing,” and immediately slicks them back — then I try to recreate them (it’s never the same) because I think they’re hilarious.  Mr. Candy does not even approve of me taking this picture.  Apparently it’s okay if we send pictures of the baby’s naked butt to the family (sorry, Skye, that was NOT my call) and talk about the State of My Mucus Plug, but posting a picture of the cat with a serious case of bedhead…?  That’s just WRONG, declares Mr. Candy, shaking his head.

Meanwhile, Marcy rolls her eyes and thinks that WE’RE embarrassing.  Which, of course, we are.

We frequently go through a similar song-and-dance with Miss Skye’s bangs:  I brush them down to make them more feminine-looking, while Mr. Candy sweeps them to the side to make her look even more like him.  He denies doing this, but somehow they always mysteriously become side-swept when he is home.  Hmmmm.

I’m just looking forward to the day Skye’s hair is long enough for Devil Horns.