Choupette Looks Miserable in Karl Lagerfeld’s Arms

Here’s how it’ll happen: one night, they’ll be alone together in the Kaiser’s study, and the kitten will jump up onto her owner’s desk. At first, she’ll just delicately rifle through the papers he’s working on with her paws, but then she’ll start chewing them, licking the corners with her coarse animal tongue. Karl’s veins will pulse, his entire body will spasm. He’ll tear off his sunglasses, and in that moment, his demonic yellow eyes will meet Choupette’s bright blue peepers. She’ll mew pathetically and try to make a run for the door, but he’ll clamp his hands over her furry little body and howl out the window. And then his head will spin around and around as if his neck were made of Play-Doh. And then — well, and then something really bad will happen, but I won’t gross you out by talking about it here.

Image courtesy of Harper’s Bazaar

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