Tuxedo Le Cat

And Grandpa, you have to wear a tux, my little grand-princess said. I thought she was crazy, daft in the head. I was miffed, corn-waggled, flabbergasted at least. Honey, you don’t put a tux on the king of the beasts! How could I rustle through the banyan trees in a tux? How could I flex mu muscles? Wouldn’t it be a flux? How could I jump from branch to branch, from limb to limb? In clothes like that, what kind of running shape would I be in? Honey, I said, gently, you do not understand. I cannot do it. I simply cannot. She turned her amber brown eyes on me, and hit my damned sweet spot. I had loved those eyes since the second she was born and handed to me. I was her grandpa, her hero, her guardian, her mother’s dad, you see. So I said I would attend her wedding wearing a tux with a red rose in my lapel. After all the other stuff I’d been through in my life it might not be hell. Actually, I looked so fine in this tux that I decided to wear it daily after that. It brought me a harem of women who named me the “Tuxedo Le’ Cat”.