Yes, as much as I hate to admit it, the dog had moved in.

Despite all my protestations, he’d fully ensconced himself in my home – lock, stock and water dish. Incidentally, his water dish alone was so big, it might just as well have been a barrel. And he’d brought all of his dog paraphernalia with him, which included his fencing swords and equipment and his boxing gloves and punching bag. Oh, and his violin and music stand, which he never uses anyway, claiming that once he hears a piece he immediately knows it by heart.

He installed many of these items in my living room, which he always refers to as the drawing room. Before his arrival into my life, my entire home had been an example of cozy good taste. Why, if not for the fact that I valued my privacy above all else, a cover spread in Feline Architectural Digest would not have been out of my reach.

Take the living room.

Before the dog, it had a high ceiling – there are high ceilings, which I love, throughout my home – and a stone fireplace with a mantelpiece over it (which you could see from across the room when you turned the corner at the top of the long staircase). Before the dog, the Oriental runner on the staircase leading up from the front door of 221B Baker Street was always pristine. Before the dog, the living room also had two deep-red leather wing chairs that face toward the fireplace from either side, but that could be turned to face the room if company came; a long sofa across the room from the bay window; a floral comfy cushion—also in front of the bay window—on which I preferred to take my indoor naps; an occasional table, upon which lay the black telephone only used occasionally; various personal and decorative items, like framed pictures and such; and a large Turkish carpet covering most of the hardwood floor.

After the dog, the living room still had all those things, but it also had those items I mentioned the dog had brought with him, and – wait for it! – a basket filled with chew toys. Now it’s true, although I haven’t mentioned it yet, that I keep my own basket in the living room. But mine is filled with classy items: balls of yarn in lovely colors, like orchid, pale pink and lime green; cloth mice, some with feathers attached for variety; and jingly balls, which are balls with bells inside. I love a good jingly ball.

True, they are not the classiest in appearance, but I stow them discreetly at the bottom of the basket, under the finer things, whenever I’m expecting company, which, thankfully, is almost never. But the dog’s basket? Filled to the brim with ugly, plastic chew toys? Ghastly. The chew toys even squeak.

The dog’s move in took place over the course of one very long day. I was so distressed, I couldn’t nap. I was so distressed, I could barely watch, keeping my paws over my eyes, only peeking out briefly each time he thumped up the stairs with yet another item to be added to my previously tidy home. He’d even installed two chandeliers, one for the living room and one for the dining area, which you reach from the living room by passing through French doors that are almost always left open. The chandeliers did add a lovely light and warmth, plus a touch of additional class to the place. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

Besides, I didn’t need to. Because the turtle complimented the dog nearly every day.

“Oh, Boss!” Mt. Javier enthused each day as he set about his duties. “Aren’t these chandeliers beautiful?”

“Well, I suppose they’re all right,” I allowed.

“And wasn’t it brilliant of Boss,” and here I knew Mr. Javier was referring to the dog, who he now thought of – annoyingly – as his other boss, “wasn’t it brilliant of him to design for me this jetpack? You know, Boss, without the jetpack, it would take forever for me to dust the chandeliers.”

Each day, as I lazily watched Mr. Javier dust, suspended high in the air by his jetpack as he flitted around the chandeliers waving his little dust rag at the crystal pieces, I was forced to admit he had a point.

If we’d had chandeliers but no jetpack, Mr. Javier would have been forced to drag out the tall stepladder, making his laborious way up the rungs. Such a process could take him all day. But now? In minutes, he could be done.

So yes, I supposed the dog could be beneficial for some things. If only he weren’t so annoying about so many other things.

Take, for instance …