Dear Clancy,
In reading your blog, I have noticed that we have so many things in common. One: Neither of us wanted a new canine sibling. Two: We both love trash parties. And Three (and most important for purposes of this communication), we both chase rodents. I write to share with you--a fellow rodent-hunter--the details of my most recent victory. First, some background. As you know, the House of Gitmo has been plagued with rodents in the past. My mom paid some idiot a bunch of money to come out and exterminate them. He was worthless. Not only did he exclude me the hunt, he didn't even allow me the pleasure of lolling around on top of their dead bodies to fully impregnate my fur with their rodentlicious smell. But I digress. The rodents returned. In a gracious effort to teach my new little brother how to REALLY hunt rodents, I demonstrated by capturing this little guy in our backyard:
I pounced upon him and, once stunned, I proceeded to demonstrate to Emmett (the despised younger brother) how one should toy with one's prey for as long as possible in order to savor the victory. FOILED! My mom saw me and came to take the rodent away. Probably because stupid Emmett was spinning around in circles and barking like an idiot. 
Anyway, I knew I should've taken the rodent somewhere safe that she never goes (like the gym?) . . . But I was too proud. So that is my lesson to you, Clancy. I suspect the day when you catch a squirrel is not far off. And when that blessed day comes, do not make the mistakes I have made. Be sly, not proud. Share your victory with NO ONE until the last breath leaves the evil rodent's body. Until next time, Clancy. Until next time.
Sugar Montano
c/o Marilyn Montano
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