“Thanks for nothing, dog. Why didn’t you remind me to write She With Whom You Abide yesterday?”

—What, I have to do everything?

“I’d be happy if you simply did something.”

—Oh no, not this discussion again: I refuse to be lectured about my work habits by the likes of you.

“And what does that mean?”

—I’m sure your superior human brain can figure it out.

“No time for that. I’ve got to return to my apartment to retrieve my computer so that I can fill out some holiday employment applications.”

—You’re leaving now?

“Oh, I’ll be back.”

—When?

“Soon enough.”

—So, I don’t have to go outside?

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your appointed rounds.”

—Oh, I’m sure any threats have been minimized by the cold: have you been out there? It’s really icy.

“I’m sure you can handle it, c’mon, let’s go! Outside, now!”

[Editor’s Note: At this point, I hoped to include a photo of the look of shocked incredulity Lewis would get when asked to go outside when he didn’t want to. Unfortunately, attempts to take such photos were either foiled by Lewis being unable to hold a pose, or by a flash that obscured his eyeballs. Believe me, though, the look cracked me up every time: rarely has any creature looked so hurt and confounded. Simply priceless, that look, priceless.]