My cat is more like a dog than a cat. He plays fetch. He guards the house. He has a large tongue that hangs out of his mouth. He’s also a descendant of wolves. My cat is more like a dog than a cat. He brings in the newspaper, but he also writes for it, actually. He has a weekly column that he publishes under a pseudonym, giving advice to people who don’t like their friends. Most cats would instruct advice-seekers to just not have friends, but not my cat—he’s a lot more like a dog than a cat. He supports the concept of friendship. My cat is more like a dog than a cat. He’s very adventurous and has a robust insurance policy that he took out on the entire family. When we eventually kick it, he stands to gain upward of a million dollars. He has no plans to resort to foul play, though, because he’s more like a dog than a cat. He’s against murder. My cat is more like a dog than a cat. He carries a little barrel of water on his collar and accompanies us humans on mountain-climbing escapades. Then, when we become dehydrated and open his little barrel for a drink, we find that it’s actually full of butterscotch schnapps and that he’s been sipping it the whole way, which is why he’s in such a good mood. Like I said, my cat is more like a dog than a cat—a dog with a drinking problem. Instead of cat food, my cat eats dog bones. I don’t mean dog biscuits shaped like bones—I mean actual dogs’ bones. He has them shipped in from one of the islands. It’s a hundred per cent illegal. He could be locked up any day now, but the idea of serving jail time doesn’t intimidate him in the slightest. He would love jail, like dogs usually do.