The spoiled little princess upstairs, for whose sake (according to the landlord) I mustn't listen to music above a whisper, and who considers it her mission in life to put the "uppity townie downstairs" in her place, has adopted a very shrill yappy little dog. And there's not a thing I can do.

Luckily, my cat totally believed me when I told him I'd keep him safe, that no dee oh gee would ever hurt him.

But it's going to be a while before I can sleep without taking medicine. I hate having to take medicine. And worse, I hate having to take medicine because somebody is using an innocent animal as a weapon to see if she can get a rise out of me and slap me down because, after all, I have a pet, so why can't she.

I'll get to where it's just more background city noise, wean myself off the medicine, and eventually get to where I can write it off as "her problem, not mine." But right now I'm quite enjoying fantasizing about snapping her lily-white little hyperentitled neck, and dognapping the yapster out to some nice home in the country where it can terrorize rabbits to its heart's delight.

Meanwhile, Little Weapon will just have to endure whatever frustration he/she engenders among his/her human wielders. Because there's not a bark barkity bark thing I can do.

Love, Columbine (come ON, you medicine, kick in already!)