Once again, I’ve let the kittens pile up, and I apologize. Take them, they’re yours.
It’s not widely known that Bastet, the goddess of perfume and cats, and Anubis, the Egyptian god of embalming, had a son, and that he was the Egyptian god of Cool—thus, the name Hep. Frankly Egyptologists only recently learned that the Egyptians had any fashion sense at all, since they were all wearing goatees and man-skirts long past when the French were doing the “tights, colored tunics, and flowing moustaches” look.
Hep’s role in the complex Egyptian afterlife was to judge the soul of the dead’s hairstyle, and whether they managed to avoid those frustrating lifetime skirt creases from accidentally putting any weight at all on linen. He would also issue forth scathing critiques of their kohl and henna. Any souls that were found unworthy were subjected to a most terrible and ferocious makeover.
And then there’s this guy.
We have clearly abandoned the usual stereotype of the noble lion, here. We have left Grace and Dignity’s house, through the garden out back, down the street, and are hunkering down in a portapotty next to Indolence, with Squalid banging on the door asking us what the hell we’re doing. This is not a lion, this is a chew-toy, and proud of it.
A face only a mother could gnaw on.
I’m not sure I would give this to my dog, even if it were a chew-toy. It would give her an even more inflated sense of her self-worth, at least until she figures out that lions aren’t generally made out of rope.
They’re really only impressive from the front. Turn a lion around, and it’s really less like a ferocious, man-eating predator, more like a Czechoslovakian cinnamon bun. Mmm, lionclaw. Smother that thing in melted butter and pass it over here!
One more for the road:
“Stop mocking me and light the damned pipe. I tied my hands together in a freak yoga accident, and I really don’t need you reminding me of my personal tragedy, thank you very much.”
Knotwork lion from Goodwill on Stassney and 183. Strangely cool cat from Salvation Army on 183, near Metric, Austin.