Oh my God. I totally apologize for that last post. You wouldn’t believe it: I came up from the laundry room and I found Dolly standing by my desk, on top of Dave, who was standing on top of Scooby (I had to give Scooby a double dose of pain meds after that), and they were all laughing their asses off. Turns out I’d left my computer on, and they’d decided to write a post. Meat Puppeteer!? How do they even know that term? (I know how they know—hi, Jul; how’s India?) Anyway, Scout was on the daybed with my glasses on his poor cataract’d eyes, reading Vogue and crying (“Why,” he asked me, tears running down his snout, “do they have to use assistants to write their celebrity profiles?”).
Anyway, this is what happens when they get stuck in a New York apartment for two days because it’s raining chats et chien. They go crazy.