By Robert Tilendis: LOVE THIS FLOOF. Yes, I love cats of all sizes, but this little fella? He’s simply adorable. Okay, so maybe little is incorrect; this guy is about the size of an average housecat. My kitty got jealous immediately. I don’t blame him. Look at that picture – how fuzzy-wuzzy is this cub? Answer: extremely. I adore running my fingers through the soft, silky faux fur that covers this puppet. It’s a marvel. Then there’s his velvety paws, with a shorter, slicker fur, so the stitching can show the individual “toe beans” clearly. The nose is covered in a fabric similar to the Jabberwock’s scaly but soft skin, though with this puppet it’s a matte black.

I couldn’t help but notice a knot of clear plastic thread near his nose, and being a bit of a perfectionist it was driving me crazy. So I gave it a tug to see where it was attached, and found it was actually the bottom of his whiskers. They’re pushed through the fur at, well, whisker level, and hidden away at the sides of his nose, and I could have easily removed ’em. This knot-end must have slipped out of its hiding spot, so I pushed it back in, allowing the whiskers to fan out again, and gave the whiskers a good solid tug. They’re not going anywhere, and now the knot is all but impossible to find after my efforts.

This puppet has a tummy entrance for your hand, which can either slide into his front paws, or into his jaw to move his mouth. I can’t seem to do both, but then I’ve never been the most dexterous person in the world. I just stare into his big dark blue eyes and give him a pat. And another. And yet another. I think I’m in love.

Robert M. Tilendis lives a deceptively quiet life. He has made money as a dishwasher, errand boy, legal librarian, arts administrator, shipping expert, free-lance writer and editor, and probably a few other things he’s tried very hard to forget about. He has also been a student of history, art, theater, psychology, ceramics, and dance. Through it all, he has been an artist and poet, just to provide a little stability in his life. Along about January of every year, he wonders why he still lives someplace as mundane as Chicago; it must be that he likes it there.