I'm here to tell you, all a fellow really needs for a full life is regular meals, a place on the hearth rug, and the occasional scratch behind the ears. If the cook finds it in her heart and menu to dispense a few sardines come tea time, then that simply crosses the t's in contentment.

So imagine my disgust one afternoon when I was awakened from the all-too-rare sunbath by a caterwauling of human voices. I sat up, stretched, smoothed my whiskers, and cantered off toward the main staircase. My elder colleague, Jasper, was already poised behind the balusters, tail wrapped tidily around his forefeet, eyeing the proceedings with the air of a judge regarding the worst sort of miscreant.