Bob's basement, where he had a den like room, was a refuge. Here is a series of a young Bob Hall and his ever tolerant, good natured cat, Rocket, or, perhaps, "Raw-cat".
The culprit!
Says the cat: "This is a good job I have here except for being taken to the vet. now and then. There are performances sometimes, though, and I sure have an uneasy feeling about this evening because the boss has an audience."
"How many cats have to wave their left hind paws to make a living? Oh, well, the food is good."
"He may laugh but I can't."
"There is a limit. Tomorrow, I may have to give notice to Mrs. Hall."
"Here we go again! Jungle, please rescue me!"
"Now just watch, forty-five years from now I'll still be suffering this ignominy on the internet. What will my great, great, great, great, great grandkittens say?"
"Ok, ok. I'm a tolerant fellow but a cat does have his dignity to consider. Now that I've had my rear elevation displayed on the world wide web in that last picture, the limit has been reached! I'll retreat to my window sill, lower my ears and apply the feline `touch me now and you are dead meat' squint"
