only fitting

Do I deserve the devotion lavished upon me at every turn? Am I worthy of the relentless attention and affection that seems to come my way so easily? Am I the prince of all I survey, as I suspect, allowing good-hearted vassals to show their fealty? Why, yes, yes, and yes.

new pupil

Recently, I was afforded the opportunity to "school" young Juicy Lucy Maud Montgomery, a snip of a thing that refused to back down during a barrage of my high squeak barking. Although she's insolent now -- at only four months, yet -- I have no doubt that as she grows, subsequent nipping and pouncing will have the desired effect. Kids today, pah.

chameleon, sans karma

What is the nature of individuality versus conformity? Can we truly have both in a world in which we dress in clone-type GapJCrewOldNavy style and, like woebegone celebs, carry the same venti size lattes until there's nothing left but that prickly foam and backwash? And what is the value of blending in, if the panorama for your exertions is actually a somewhat garish carpet that Minion schlepped across the country from some dying rug business in Cambridge, Mass.? Ah, the pressures of a Zelig-meets-maverick mind. Sometimes, I am humbled by my own acumen.

Je m'appelle Garbo

Life, she is taxing. How I muse on those puppyish days of romping through the uncut grass and rolling about in decaying fish -- amusing, really, how such diversions used to fill my time to such a degree. But now, in my august days, I'm struck with a certain kind of pensive mood, the type that demands loads and loads of time underneath the covers. On with the contemplation!

benefits of neglect

To say that Minion is a poor gardener is akin to saying George W. is a wretched diplomat -- there's little need to utter it, since the results speak for themselves. But unlike the questionable policy decisions of our draconian administration, Minion's lack of attention to the backyard is rather refreshing. Since long grass is a magnet for rodents, I've had a delightful time chasing small, brown something-or-others and simply whiling away the summer days, contemplating the Buddhist overtones of "Heart of Darkness" or wondering how much cocaine Meryl Streep had to ingest before acting next to Lindsay Lohan. Thanks for the fabulous neglect and laziness, Min!

venom

There are so many, many things that I bitterly despise. Children. Carrots. Art that's been deemed "edgy." Julia Stiles. But there's a special place in my dark, moldy little heart for both Sears and sock monkeys. Neither are particularly welcome in this world, and I can't imagine either would be missed. One attempts to lure Middle America into buying polyester blouses made by toddlers in Taiwan, and the other is a monkey. Made from a sock. Horrors.

small sacrifices

Oh, how I long for the classic days of dolphin-infused tuna. Born too late for such indulgences, I can only imagine the thrill of feasting on a mammal seemingly smart enough to communicate and yet daft enough to allow bombs to be strapped to its head. Those playful, frolicking clowns of the sea, conveniently served in 3.5 ounces. Sigh. But I soldier on, trying to enjoy the uglier, denser tuna, which have nothing to recommend them intellectually, but do have a remarkable propensity for jumping into nets.

hawk v. dove

As you can imagine, I'm appalled. While I was home, writing a fan letter to Cindy Sheehan -- lauding her activism, yet gently suggesting that more flattering clothes would help her cause (enough with t-shirts and sweatpants, Cin!) -- Minion was out shooting other similarly attired militia members with garish paint. Although I'm intrigued by the fresh abundance of camouflage, particularly in the hip-hop arena, Minion's outfit here is...well. Subtlety, thy name is not Min, shall we say.

existential moment

What is it to be Ambrose? Of what finer stuff is one made in the Ambrosian sphere compared to, say, Fido or Pepper or Teegan? And, in this deathless and glittering realm, why must I never have a real bunny, but always suffer through this monotonous parade of fleecy substitutes that so quickly lose their internal squeakers? These are the questions that haunt me.