Saved from the brink of starvation.

Please excuse me as I snack on my, oh... 6000 or so tiny bones.

It's good to have friends in high places. (Honey?! Is that you?!)

I'll tell you once. Never twice.

I am 14 years old, which- in human years- is something like 750 if I've done my math correctly. Being somewhat advanced in years, I have earned privileges. Several privileges in fact. One of those privileges is prompt service when I stand by the door and whistle softly. If it's time to go pee pee or doo doo, I will alert you at the first uncomfortable twinge. If more than 30 seconds transpires from the moment I whistle to feeling the snow crunch beneath my feet, it's bombs away. I did warn you. To frantically yell out, "Hold on Seva! I'll be right there after I finish this sentence!" does nothing but infuriate me. When I am infuriated, I tend to lose bladder tone and sphincter control. So wipe that appalled look off your face and clean up this mess. You have only your negligence to blame.

Yooo Hoooo!!

Getting....weaker....

One...tiny...bone...left.

Where's my annonymous sugar daddy when I need him? (Oh wait. I think my benefactor may be Honey, from the great beyond. If that's the case, where's my sugar mama? I can swing if tiny bones are involved.)

I'm not sure what happened. Either I ate them, or Finny stole them. Either way, I'm sure to go hungry tonight.

This is me....stumbling...toward...the bright....light. Honey?! Is that you...?

One foot in the door of the nearest military school.

Finlay's taken to stealing. He's always pilfered things not belonging to him, but he's been very up front about it. He'll take the book from your nightstand, casually saunter up to you in the kitchen, peacefully lie down and commence destruction. By then, the shock of seeing him with your book has worn off, allowing you to grab it away from his murderous jaws. At least he had the decency to come right out in the open, rather than finding the darkest corner to dismember your belongings. Now? Things appear to be taking a turn for the sinister.

Yesterday, mommy and daddy realized money was missing.

"Did you take the three dollars off the kitchen table?" Mommy asks daddy.

"No." Daddy checks his pockets, just to make sure he didn't reflexively swipe the cash.

"Then who did? Because it was just here and now it's gone." Mommy and daddy evaluate all three cats innocently perched on various kitchen surfaces.

"Don't look at us." hisses Cleo. "We have no need for three dollars. Doesn't interest us in the least."

Matisse, cat number two, furiously gestures at Finlay behind his back. Mouths the words- "ASK HIM", while pointing a tiny claw.

Mommy looks at Finlay, eyes narrowed.

"Finlay, did YOU take the three dollars?" She asks in accusatory fashion.

"ME?! Gosh no." His voice cracks. His head lowers, he breaks eye contact and walks sideways while grinning and tucking his tail between his legs.

"Oh no." I sardonically respond. "He doesn't look at ALL guilty, that one." I roll my eyes, disgusted at my brother's blatant inability to lie. Have I taught him nothing?

Once, when I stole 8 fillets of Orange Roughy off the kitchen counter, marinating for a dinner party, Mommy asked me and my Borzoi sister which one of us was the culprit. We looked her straight in the eye and said, "Neither one of us. And how DARE you accuse us!" Then she smelled our breath and sent us both to bed with no dinner. But we never admited it. What a weakling, Finlay...

So now, none of us trust him. We're watching our belongings closely. Forced to live with a thief in our own abode.

"HEY!" Bellows Matisse. "Where's my bed?!"

All eyes turn to Finlay...

I'll give her a 7.

On a scale of 1 to 10.

This morning, for reasons I'll leave undisclosed, I refused to get out of bed. 7 a.m. rolled around and being the precise creature he is, Finlay rose exactly to the second. Every morning it is the same routine. Mommy has completely abandoned the use of her alarm clock as Finlay is every bit as reliable. She finds waking up to his rustling around in his kennel and soft whistles much more agreeable to the clock radio. Generally I'll get up when they get up. What the hell... But today, I made the decision to sleep in and nothing was going to sway me. Not even the melodious sound of my mommy stirring up my kibble and turkey/sweet potato pate'. Nope. Gonna stay right here, I thought to myself.

Mommy called me... Mommy called me again. Nothing. Stayed right where I was.

So she brought me breakfast in bed.

At first I tried to bury it in my bed. But then mommy played her evil tricks on me and pretended to eat a piece. That gets me every time, that bitch trying to steal my food... I gulped one bite, so the water buffalo wouldn't eat it all. After taking one bite of the scrumptious nosh, I couldn't resist taking another. And another.

Around this time, Finlay came into the room to check out the happenings. Mommy-now playing the chef, wait staff, and nurse- quickly took on the additional role of bodyguard by blocking Finlay's entrance, so he couldn't get too close to my coveted breakfast. This causes me great stress, you see. The dirty pirate is constantly trying to plunder my meals. While holding my 55 pound brother at bay with one arm, she gently tipped my breakfast bowl so that I could reach the pieces of kibble in the round seams, being that the angle was not quite right while lying on my side. (You try it! It's not easy eating your food while recumbent.) In this manner, I finished my breakfast entirely. As I was contentedly licking my pate' clean from my stainless steel dinnerware, I paused to ask my mommy one simple question.

"Where's my mimosa?"

Then another.

"And no cut flowers?"

Stiffly rising from her crouched position of bowl-holder, she shot me a look of sarcastic disdain and sauntered out of the bedroom. From elsewhere in the abode, I heard Finlay whining:

"I don't feel like eating! Can you hold my bowl?"

White like me.

In her constant drive to emulate me, Mother Nature appears to be making an attempt to cover most of us in this country with an alabaster coat of perfect never-ending whiteness.

"White looks so divine on Seva." Madame Natura must surely be reflecting. "I believe I shall cover much of the country in brilliant white beauty, true to her exemplary being. In this way, we will pay homage to her elegant visage."

This is what I suspect the discussion entailed, anyway. I can almost hear the tete-a-tete with her fellow deities... (Honey's there with her, I'm certain.) It's a burdon to be universally desired, I promise you.

I would never challenge her judgement, however I do have one important question for our good Mother.

How do you intend to represent my polka dots?

My fabulous black dots appear to be curiously absent from our current view of the out-of-doors, which I cannot seem to take my eyes off of. Mildly disturbing. Nothing here but a vast canvas of white everywhere. As far as a bitch with advanced visual skills can see. Swirling and cascading...utterly white.

Ho Hum.

Mommy's flying off to Las Vegas tomorrow when she SHOULD be staying right here and updating my diary. I have important words, in need of expression. She doesn't see it that way, apparently. She thinks work obligations are more important. I understand that she need continue to support me in the style to which I've become accustomed, but Las Vegas? I've seen the commercials. Hedonistic, drunken debauchery is sure to await her.

(Mommy rolls her eyes, while packing her suitcase. She interrupts Seva's tirade.) "It's a stupid veterinary conference that I'm obligated to attend. My Dog. I'm not going to get into any trouble. I'm not YOU, after all. I'll go for the week and come right home and update your diary. Will that make you happy?" Mommy is losing her patience.

(Seva chooses to ignore her. She scratches her chin in contemplation.)

I've lived my whole life not having to work. I rest all day, play, enjoy the finest cusine and health care... You know, I've had it pretty good. That's not to say it couldn't be better, mind you. But for now, I think I'll do some more relaxing and let mommy and daddy do the work. Even if the work happens to be in sunny Las Vegas.

Why must you torment me so? (Do it again!)

Another 5000 bones deposited annonymously... Hmmm... Who are you, oh generous benefactor of snacks? I see Honey also has 5000 bones. Have you also bequeathed her? So little clues... I'm still thinking that perhaps you ARE Honey, hoping to fatten me up before I join you for an eternity on the empyrean roof. It would, after all, be SUCH a drag to forever be associated with a lithe, delicate angelic creature as myself, would it not? Would not a pot-belly in place of my slender abdomen render another female more comfortable in my presence? One can only wonder... Honey, however, has always been comfortable with her figure. Flaunts that linebacker build like it's the latest rage. And I have to admit, she looks pretty good in a tankini. It's not like her to be jealous. Perhaps my kind benefactor is but a male, communicating his ever-lasting love for me; issuing assurance that no matter how portly these 5000 bones may render me, he shall always be smitten by my inner beauty... Alas, I remain in the dark. I have no idea. Enlighten me, someone. Until I find out, and properly reward my generous bestower of tiny bones, there's only one thing to do. Keep eating until the answer comes to me... Mommy seems to think that works, anyway.

Calling all Polar Bears!

Two nights ago, we enjoyed an inspirational evening listening to my mommy's favorite guy- Al Gore- rattle on about global warming. "An Inconvenient Truth" the DVD was called. Quality flick. As we tossed popcorn into our mouths, all sharing the cozy couch, we silently absorbed all of the information about Greenland disappearing, the oceans warming, the Poles fragmenting, Polar Bears drowning ... oh, it was delightful. When the movie ended and the credits rolled, mommy and daddy stared at the "recommendations for a green household" with blank stares, a bit disheartened by what we had learned.

So as not to interfere with their movie watching experience, I waited until the credits ended to lighten the mood.

"BRING ON GLOBAL WARMING!" I jocularly yelled, trying to cheer them.

My ear to ear grin all but vanished when I realized mommy and daddy- and (#$% kisser) Finlay- were NOT amused. Seems global warming is not a good thing and is not meant to be funny. Ever. In any context.

"I was just kidding..." I sheepishly mumbled. "Sheesh...You guys are so uptight." I sauntered off to retire for the evening, newspaper tucked under my arm for a pre-sleep perusal.

Secure in my warm bed, I skipped right to the weather forcast and curiously studied the trend for the upcoming week. Are we to expect warming this week? Next perhaps?

________________________________________________________ __
Saturday, February 3rd. Forcasted High: Negative 6 with a wind chill factor of Negative 20.
__________________________________________________________

Crap.

I know that global warming is a frightening phenomenon. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't wish for just a little bit of it here in Minnesota, right now. Negative 6 degrees?

Perhaps I should invite the Polar Bears to move here. They could remain blissfully chilled... At least for the next week.

Jealousy gets me nowhere. Damn it.

So my mommy was conversing on the telephone yesterday with the wife of the Chief of Staff at Johns Hopkins Medical School. Seems the haughty yorkie of the household had eaten a poisonous plant. Mommy asked her a simple question, "Was there any evidence of vomiting overnight?". Hoity Toity Lady responded "Impossible". The housekeeping staff changes the "dog-bed linens" ( I quote) on a daily basis. Highly trained individuals, they surely would have reported any evidence of digestive disturbance to the lady of the estate.

No worries. The yorkie was fine and shall remain so. My question to you is, do YOU have a staff who changes your bed linens daily? I myself, don't even HAVE linen on my bed. Just a big fuzzy 10year old covering, rife with dust, mold, and dander. Why couldn't I have been sold into slavery to Hoity Toity Lady instead of my mommy? I deserve linen, damn it! (Stamps a dainty paw; a behavior generally reserved for jealous fits of rage inspired by Dexter's extra-furricular activity with English Setter floozies...)

Honestly. I'm in my 15th year. You'd think I'd deserve a staff of housekeepers to do my bidding. My bidding today? I would like linens on my bed, thank you. And please be sure that you change them daily.