Pippin and I just spent the last hour or so hemming my new pants. I say “Pippin and I” because while I was splitting my attention between hemming and the Daily Show, Pippin was paying attention to the hemming with every breath, every whisker, all four paws, and both pupils. As the thread mysteriously disappeared from his view with every stitch, his pupils would widen until they completely obliterated his golden irises, his breath would catch in his throat, his paws would twitch, and his whiskers would move another millimeter forward.

Most of the time he was able to restrain himself from actually interfering with the task, but a couple of times it got to be too much and his paws would leap forward or his mouth would somehow end up surrounding the thread.

This evening confirms that there is a household task more interesting than Making The Bed. Until today Making The Bed was the best game ever. Now I know that Hemming is the bestest, most amazingest game in the whole wide world.

Now he’s completely exhausted from his labors, but the pants are fully hemmed so he needn’t worry about missing anything.