Sir Dingles is Found! A Valentine's Tale of Amour & Taxidermy

Upon my daily, mid-morn, Bloody Mary-fueled speed saunter down Park and E. 60th, I spied a comely young tomato promenading upon the opposing sidewalk, proudly sporting what appeared to be a fresh, shiny Leopard print outfit: Pill box chapeau, jacket, skirt, and matching pumps. But what caught my pickled peepers in particular was the Leopard head purse... it had two char marks on the proboscis similar to ones I had administered to Sir Dingles with my cattle prod the day before his disappearance. Bad kitty.

This vision in hide, this debutante in endangered skins, had more than my Sir Dingles upon her nubile frame... she had mon coeur (Just on temporary loan. After all, there are plenty of poissons dans la mer). She dazzled me with a scintillating tale of knife-in-the-teeth safari action, all night jungle tracking, and plenty of hand-to-paw cat wrestlin'. All cock n' bull, I was to find out. In reality, she just came upon the corpulent corpse of Sir Dingles sprawled outside her apartment door, where he apparently choked on her mink welcome mat (mistaking it for a very flat Beaver perhaps), dragged him in and went to work fashioning an ensemble très à la mode. She had everything I look for in a lady: A lying, knife-wielding opportunist from a very respectable family.

Hats off to you, Ms. Penelope Fitzwhistle. I can only hope to be stuffed and mounted by you in the very near future. Happy Valentine's Day all!