The Pet Lady


It has been called to the attention of the Pet Lady by one of the dear lambs in the Department of Art that this column will greet its public on none other than the Day of Love! The Pet Lady, being a lover of Love, as well as feeling languorous, sipping a large pink drink in a martini glass, and lacking momentarily the Pet Secretary (who left a vague note about a sudden trip to New Orleans and has yet to return) to sift through the mail, shall thus pen you, dearest Readers, a Valentine, and instruct the Department of Art to accompany it with some sort of decorative, symbolic Heart!

For the Pet Lady does love you, insofar as you show such sweet concern for your fur friends, send the P.L. nice drawings and photos and letters, inquire about her bowling, and do not lurk outside the offices to admonish her in person when she makes terribly misguided statements such as “Fish just die.” As someone very, very wise once said, “The best friend is the one you have not yet met,” and, in that regard, the P.L. values each and every one of her dear Readers as a best friend of the best kind, treasuring them as one can only treasure those whom one has yet to discover have an annoying laugh or poor taste in shoes. Not that any dear Readers suffer from such flaws—heavens, no, you are all most certainly guffaw- and screech-free, dressed tidily and appropriately, and possessed of kissing prowess.

The Pet Lady had reason to contemplate the kissing arts recently (which is only appropriate as the Day of Love is nigh), for the lovely Dategirl had recounted her utterly horrifying first kiss, with which the P.L. sympathized so completely that it was necessary that the Lady and the Girl enjoy a bottle of champagne and retrospectively commiserate.

The premiere kiss of the P.L., lo these many years ago and without engaging in too much disturbing detail, involved the unceremonious guiding into a corner of the young P.L. by a youth at a party; elsewhere, the dog was being served a beer, things were being set aflame, and all manner of high jinks were occurring. Then, suddenly, the face of the youth loomed, closer and closer, and then, horrifyingly, the youth attempted to remove the tonsils of the P.L. without the benefit of properly sterilized surgical instruments (an unforgivable error in kissing technique known as the Plunger). Ah, young Love! The P.L., needless to say, fled at the first opportunity, and her faith in Romance was not restored for some time.

But, oh, this is not a very good tale for a Valentine, is it? No matter, for the dearest Readers have no difficulty with the kissing arts, being all, if you will indulge Cupid, firm but yielding, moist but not in any way sloppy. The P.L. raises her glass to you, lovely Readers, and issues you a big imaginary kiss (which are sometimes the best kind). Cheers! Kisses! Happy day!

Love from,

The Pet Lady

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