Lookout, World.

T.O.C.E.'s father rolled into town last week, leaving many jokes about the weather and $97.50 in blackjack winnings in his guffawing path. I like T.O.C.E.'s pop. I like him so much that, when he came to the house, I even let him look at me for about 30 seconds before I ran away.

But this story of famillial visitation is not all sunshine and roses--oh, no. Because T.O.C.E.'s father bought her a little gift, an item that, though it has existed for many, many years, I've prayed T.O.C.E. would never get her mitts on, as she has no spatial perception, taste, or knowledge of when to quit.

He bought her a digital camera.

While this might be considered a positive by many of my minions, who would never pass up the opportunity to get an eyefull of their favorite elusive cat blogger, and while it might also remove from my metaphorical jock the non-believers, who think a furry blogging entity cannot possibly exist in this mixed-up, crazy world, this new camera leaves me drowning in dread more than hope and excitement.

Case in point: Though the new camera might yield attractive, educational photos like this one, of me hard at work:

It will undoubtedly also yield thousands of kodak moments like this one, where I am mercilessly tortured, Olan-Mills style:

(help me.)

Or worse still, you know they'll be several hundred dozen terrifying stills like this one:

...just in time for the holidays.