lil b, feisty spud, ‘sabi, footstool; the names that i use for his precious existence are endless.
unlike the other obnoxious, but well loved idiots that make up the spud trio, Wasabi is snuggly perfection in all aspects. well, not the ten plus years of failed housebreaking, but everything else.
he loves everybody, will do anything, and is packaged in a baby lion body that makes me want to squeal with happiness at all times.
i mean, look at that, how many nuggets do you know that will perch on a post like an owl with no complaints? he is the golden child of this family, hands down. and the only reason i don’t kiss him more often is the foul smell of his breath.
it’s not his fault. he has a weird digestive system. seriously. he barfs after ingesting anything cooler than room temperature or that isn’t an unsalted cracker. he also eats chicken. but that sucker better not be chilled because picking up slimy half digested meat chunks is gross.
Spuds 