Mr. Nutmeg isn't the slightest bit concerned that his cat has a cannon (Kitten Cannon?). He's also not very concerned that his cat's head is on backwards. And can't he just go up to the cannon and grab the envelope?

I know there's a chance that Heathcliff could set the cannon off, but let's be honest: that isn't going to happen. This strip was written in a time when circus cannons were joke fodder, and was thusly written well before women were part of the workforce. Heathcliff blows Mr. Nutmeg to kingdom come? No more wet food for you.

Anyway, if I were Iggy, I'd grow a fucking pair, put those three spiky pieces of hair to use, and shank Grandpa for asking, nay demanding, to see those grades. Mr. Nutmeg isn't Iggy's father: Iggy's parents died in a bizarre gardening accident! And even if they were alive, they'd lie their asses off about Iggy's poor grades, because nobody wants to add on to the heap of misery that is growing old and watching life slide out of view.

Demand a Wii Fit and at least a year's worth of wet food before you give up, Iggy. Then, when the old man is least expecting it, sign the papers. Better yet, blow the cannon, cite that Mr. Nutmeg failed clown college, and collect the money Mr. Nutmeg no doubt left behind. Isn't that every grandparent's dream? To see the money they worked so hard for go to people with a track record of failure? KABOOM, and then it's all the pizza, video games, and late night TV you want...just like a relationship with a grand parent should be...minus the grandparent.