a tabby cat

I climbed back through the bottomless mashed potatoes as quickly as I could, relieved to see that his ski was off, with his foot pointing in a normal direction— not the skis’.

Thy gloomy Grandeurs (Natures moſt auguſt, / Inſpiring Aſpect!) claim a grateful Verſe; / And, like a ſable Curtain ſtarr'd' with Gold, / Drawn o'er my Labours paſt, ſhall cloſe the Scene.

All I'd need to complete the picture of loserness is a roommate who talks about girls he never dates.