No one appreciates a good bit of acting from the Hippo bear these days. Since my shirt clearly indicates that I am Santa's Little Helper, I was attempting to place presents under the tree, or at the very least scope it out so that Santa can pile the dolls, racecars, and catnip mousies, in the most efficient manner possible. But alas, all my efforts were interpreted as simply a desire to eat the sparkly silver trappings offered by this particular tree.
In other news, the lack of snow outside is affecting even me, and I hail from the year-round balmy-ness that was Persia. It is hard to "Meowing Like a Winter Hippo-cat" when it is 50 degrees out. When Christmas comes my fur is supposed to match the landscape of fluffy whiteness. At least Hippo is here to remind you of what fluffy winter is supposed to be like.
Purrs and Smooches,
Hippo
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