Violet The Gargoyle sat shivering in the harsh light of the bleak mid-winter morning, wondering where her warm, cozy sweats had got to. Why did they forget, again, to light the fireplaces? Blasted Victorians.
This is my father’s “Gargoyle Guy,” given to him on his 75th birthday. He adored him. Gargoyle Guy resided in many places around my parent’s house, primarily because my mother kept trying to move him out of the prominently placed sites my father would put him. The picture, sans the purple hue, was taken by my father.