flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
Hugging a pile of happy foxen is the only way I want to wear real fur. . . which is, I realize, somewhat inconsistent. I eat meat, and have for more than half of my life; I wear leather shoes. While I certainly wouldn’t advocate buying fur in general, I can say that philosophically I can’t have an issue with either vintage fur or ethically obtained fur (people who hunt for meat and sell or use the pelts). But in actual fact ew, ew, ew, get it offfffff me.
Now I need to wrap Mooch around my neck and snorgle his belly.