It’s harrowing to see my cartoons alone, abandoned, un-commented upon! So I’ve decided to keep them company with a few thoughts of my own. The idea for this particular cartoon came to me quite easily. You see, in the top drawer of my desk there is an old smelly towel. On that old smelly towel there is often resting a small grey tomcat named Eliot, who, it all of a sudden occurred to me, is my feline likeness: stationary, sort of curled up, doing (let’s face facts, folks) nothing much. Thanks for the inspiration, furry muse!
Tom, I’ve been greatly enjoying your cartoons (silently) for the past few weeks now–thank you for prompting me to speak up!
I often wonder what pets (and children) think when we’re sitting there working. When I tell my son “Mommy’s working,” it must look to him like I’m just wasting time: sitting still, staring at a computer screen with NO pictures whatsoever, occasionally wiggling my fingers. Why would anyone spend hours doing such a thing?
I have a sneaking suspicion that even non-feline, non-child observers of the writing process must have a similar gut reaction to seeing someone “at work.” Of course my son always tries to climb up in my lap, supposing (perhaps rightfully so) that he could do a better job finishing that story.
Keep those comics flowing, mustn’t take ourselves too seriously.
It’s harrowing to see my cartoons alone, abandoned, un-commented upon! So I’ve decided to keep them company with a few thoughts of my own. The idea for this particular cartoon came to me quite easily. You see, in the top drawer of my desk there is an old smelly towel. On that old smelly towel there is often resting a small grey tomcat named Eliot, who, it all of a sudden occurred to me, is my feline likeness: stationary, sort of curled up, doing (let’s face facts, folks) nothing much. Thanks for the inspiration, furry muse!
Tom, I’ve been greatly enjoying your cartoons (silently) for the past few weeks now–thank you for prompting me to speak up!
I often wonder what pets (and children) think when we’re sitting there working. When I tell my son “Mommy’s working,” it must look to him like I’m just wasting time: sitting still, staring at a computer screen with NO pictures whatsoever, occasionally wiggling my fingers. Why would anyone spend hours doing such a thing?
I have a sneaking suspicion that even non-feline, non-child observers of the writing process must have a similar gut reaction to seeing someone “at work.” Of course my son always tries to climb up in my lap, supposing (perhaps rightfully so) that he could do a better job finishing that story.
Keep those comics flowing, mustn’t take ourselves too seriously.