me: I AM NOT THE MOMMY. I AM A TIGER.
biscuit: You are not!
me: I so am.
biscuit: But you have armpits.
me: Tigers have armpits.
biscuit: But tigers don't have toes!
me: Sure they do.
biscuit: You don't have stripes.
me: Excellent point. I AM A LION.
biscuit: You don't eat those deer-things.
me: You present me with an antelope, a dibatag, an oryx, or a gerenuk, and I WILL SO EAT IT.
biscuit: You don't have a mane.
me: LOOK AT MY LUXURIOUS MANE.
biscuit: YOUR MANE IS BLACK! Lions have yellow manes.
me: Fair point. I AM A BLACK PANTHER.
biscuit: You don't have green eyes.
me: I do so.
biscuit: You don't climb trees.
me: I DO SO.
biscuit: You don't have fur.
me: Check out my arm, dude.
biscuit: (visibly frustrated) MOMMY, YOU ARE NOT A PANTHER.
me: UNTIL YOU CAN PROVE OTHERWISE, I POSIT THAT I AM.
biscuit: UGH. I GIVE UP.
me: YAY! I WIN! I'M A PANTHER!
biscuit: Oh, Mommy. You are *so* weird.
Also, I have an art crush.
I want this guy to illustrate ALL MY BOOKS.
The paranormal romance about the steampunk Victorian circus caravan?
The middle grade about the all black-and-white world where they have to wear plague masks all the time and are chased by thylacines and eohippi?
The middle grade about the mice that live in the attic and are really people?
All of them. Illustrate ALL OF THEM.
You, sir, are the artist I wish I had been.