What the picture fails to convey is the windshield-wiper action that was going on with the tail. Also, Mr.Q's sadistic delight at my discomfort. However, the picture clearly shows who's the boss of me. And I've had that stoopid Monty Python song in my head ever since.
I have garlic roasting for supper, to be spread on a baguette, which will in turn sop up the baked brie-and-blackberry-jelly I am about to put in the oven. The occasion? I'll illustrate, with a little gratuitous nudity:
The First Day of Naked Feet!
(edited to add an after-dinner-note-to-self: However extravagantly jubilant the occasion, keep in mind that an entire (large) head of roasted garlic just might be a little too much for one person. I'm just saying.)