I'm not crying, you're crying. Ah who'm I fucking kidding. I've been crying like Alice when she's 10 feet tall

Who wants to live forever

As I write this it is late on Friday evening. Our appointment is set for Sunday. I had to make a decision, wait until Sunday evening, skip the comic this week and possibly never come back to it for reasons, or do it early. I chose to do it early because I do have people that read this that actually know us, and while the comic really only has to do with my life in a weird distorted way, I am losing one of my characters. Again.  I think if I skipped the comic this week, I would never come back to it. I really don’t want to have the conversation “Hey, didn’t you used to write a comic? What happened with that?” “The cat died, and I was worried that I somehow channeled George RR Martin, and since there are only two real characters left…”
Anyhow, this may have been the most difficult one to photograph, because the Cat is still here at the moment and acting like nothing is wrong other than he thinks he’s naked because I borrowed his collar. Of course when you all read this, it will be Monday, and we’ll be without the pitter patter thump, crash, scatter, bump, of really fucking cold feet.


Paddy: It’s Hell of a thing, eh Boyo? You going to be OK?
Patrick: yeah
Wife: It never gets any easier, does it?
Paddy: No luv, it doesn’t
Paddy: and I’m glad for that