I Just Love Me Some Pugs

I want a dog. Not just any dog, but a Pug. His name will be Clinton and I'll dress him in a studded collar and Brooklyn hoodie. He'll be a badass little punk. I'll walk him on a Yankee logo leash. All the bitches will be enamored.

The problem? 9-5 is not something my industry is known for. I live alone in Brooklyn and work in midtown. There's a doggie daycare down the road from my apartment, but that's just ridiculous. I'm sure there's dog walkers available, but do I really want to hand over the keys to my apartment/world to a total stranger?

Then there's Venus. It's been V and I against the world since I found the abandoned little lump of fur the summer before my junior year of college. V's about to celebrate her 8th birthday next month. Being the lazy fat cat that she's become, having a puppy around might literally give her a heart attack.

And, there's my reputation to consider. If Clinton arrives, then I'd be "that girl." You know, the one that lives alone in Brooklyn with a cat...and a dog.

So, to stave off the impending spinsterhood label, I've compromised. His/her name is Jaws. He/she is a delightful little goldfish I won in my hood's streetfair.

I've housed him/her in a spacious and yet charming bowl complete with oversized glass beads. He/she swims happily around occasionally bumping into one of the clear beads like a bird flying into a sliding glass door. (apparently he/she's not that bright). Unfortunately, Jaws' abode must reside on top of the fridge as V would view him/her merely as an amusing snack.

So for now, it's just going to be me, Ms V and Jaws. Ah, but much like his namesake, I have a feeling it'll be Clinton in '08...