I assumed my Professor Minerva McGonagall aspect yesterday, delivering a lecture on the evils of cigars, catnip, biting one's sisters, stealing food, laziness, sloth, gluttony, and a few related issues. He listened attentively at first (I do a fine Maggie Smith imitation):
But he dislikes being referred to as "Maquoddy." He turned a deaf ear (actually, it was his half-ear) to my entreaties for reform.
As is typical with this incorrigible rapscallion, things quickly got out of hand:
I wish he'd at least attack the correct end of the cigar. They will take him for a bumpkin in the casino.
He is really too young to handle cigars. This one was too much for him:
He retired to his armchair to recover.
He spent the rest of the day doing nothing remotely improving. I despair of his future. I suppose we should start accumulating a trust fund for this n'ere-do-well.