Dear Killer Yapp:
I'm a six year old miniature poodle, with perfect red curls and large brown eyes. Though only eighteen pounds, my legs are long-boned and lazy. They call me Kipper for short, but my full name's Yummy Kippur. I was born on Yom Kippur, is how it went.
My father (he's a writer; you know how they are) refuses to take me to a groomer; he doesn't trust any ever since one of them left a pug in the dryer too long by accident. Though I'll admit I can be short tempered at times, and if you point your finger at me I'll show long, sharp teeth you'd never have guessed existed, but I'm tired of the choppy home haircuts and the huge poof he leaves on top of my head.
My mean, old sister, a sixteen year old cat who's been whacking me in the head since they adopted me, laughs her ass off every three weeks when they groom me. And my best friend, a really butch lady scottie (who is owned by a really good literary agent, too), is constantly making fun of me. What to do?
Killer Yapp replies:
First, you need to dump the cat. I advise duct tape, leftover plastic grocery bags and a ransom note to distract the bipeds' attention. I think you can download ransom notes from catsRscum.sol but my doorman, Franq, helps me; he says he doesn't have much use for pussy either.
Next, you need to make sure your human has a phone with large buttons. Miss Snark got rid of the one she had after the Unfortunate Incident of the Anchovy Pizza Delivery but Grandmother Snark doesn't see too well and I like to visit her. (toothy grin emoticon would be here if I had one)
When you get to the phone dial this number you find on this website
Remember to order cookies while you're at it.
And Scotties are just plaid pretenders to the throne, you need to hang out with poodles.