I'm not fat, I'm fluffy.

I'm gettin' used to the place.

The routine's set. Up in the morning for food and a walk. Sleep all day. Walk, food & cuddles at night. Long jaunts on the weekends. Rides to the beach on sunny days.

I even have a neighbor. Her name's Ellie. She pops her head over the fence and I say hi. We're friendly that way.

Hey, Rose. It's Ellie. Come say hi.

Hi Ellie.

Pretty decent life, I'd say. I could use some more food though. Could always use more food.

I try to tell her. I do. I sit here, staring up, puppy-dog-eyes in full view... saying telepathically:

Yes. I know I just ate. I know it. But do you? Perhaps you forgot. You are getting very sleepy... you have not fed your dog today. You are a very.bad. parent.

Bad. Parent.

She holds up her hands and says, emphatically:

And I say, "I'm not stupid. I know there's food in that fridge. What is that?!?! Yogurt? I eat yogurt."

She says I'm like that giant, singing plant in "Little Shop of Horrors," but I see no resemblance.

She says I'm a belly on legs. I say that's mildly offensive.

She calls me a Hoover. I say I'm just doing my part.

She says I need to exercise more and eat less. I say she needs to mind her own damn business.

It's an ongoing saga. Clearly.

Speaking of food, Mom bought me some new bowls online. They rightfully proclaim that I am both pretty AND good.

She also ordered me a new collar. It's green with pink flowers on it. She says it brings out my femininity. Whatever that is.

But I'm really liking the place. Mom filled it with fluffy things for me to lounge on. The couch. The bed. The carpet. She bought a little gas heater that doubles as a sedative, lulling me to sleep.

Mom's been making some upgrades to the place. She's contracted the help of a few fellas.

These fellas fix things.

There's the handyman fella. A new one. He's from Connecticut. Mom says he knows the definition of customer service, which is more than she can say for most Australians. He came to give her a quote and ended up taking the dryer off the wall, writing down the serial number for her and then putting back on the wall - no charge. She had to pick her jaw off the ground.

He welcomed her as a fellow American ex-pat. He told her to be patient, that she'd fall in love with Australia forevermore. That it took him about 6 months and then he was hooked. She said it only took her 6 hours. She's advanced.

There's the electrician fella. He came to put a sensor on the front porch light so that we don't have to open the door in the dark. And he fixed the light in the inner courtyard, which I still refuse to pee in.

There's the landscaper fella. He came to help her kill the weeds in the garden so she didn't have to go crazy pulling them up every other day.

There's the carpet installer fella. He came over to put carpet on the stairs so I wouldn't fall and hurt my little self. And so Mom's wrists wouldn't snap carrying me up and down the stairs.

Feelin' confident.

There's the nerd fella. He came to help hook up the AppleTV, fix her Kindle and set up the printer.

Then there's the appliance serviceman fella. He came out to put the dryer door back on. She nicknamed him God Send. He liked that nickname.

And tomorrow, she says an architect fella's coming over. I'm not sure what he's going to do exactly. I mean, we're not renovating or anything. The kitchen's in fine shape, being stocked with chicken and all. I wonder what he's going to fix?