Anyways, the little bob-tailed bastard jumped up on the couch next to me and spit it on my arm.
I guess cats lack true lips and therefore cannot purse their mouths and properly spit like a camel or a third-baseman, therefore Hobbes really mouth-dropped his bb on me. Like a dog dropping a ball so he can fetch it, again?
Anyways, my cats don't play fetch, and they rarely bring me hunting trophies, so I assumed he had just lost interest in the damned bb. Then, he dove head first at it and grabbed it, again, and then dropped it, again, on my arm.
Then it started crawling on me. Hobbes had brought me a damned wood-louse. Or Rollie-pollie. Or Doodle-bug. Whatever.