I know one small cat named Patches. She smells wonderful, not like any dog I know. I want to put my front paws around her and taste her, but she doesn’t like it. She curls up on the window sill of my friend, Toni, and watches and waits. I am not afraid of her, but she is quite small and makes funny noises from the back of her throat when I get too close.

Although we don’t look alike, we both have whiskers. Whiskers help us feel around the world. They vibrate like jazzy music. It hurts when you comb my beard and catch my whiskers between the teeth of the comb. You hurt my feelings. It turns out Patches has feelings too. Her whiskers quiver when she sees me.

You told me that some cats eat out of special food bowls because their whiskers get in the way so they become so nervous they won’t eat. They even get something called whisker fatigue which is stressful. I, personally, do not get nervous around food. In fact, nothing gets in the way of my food. I eat so fast you have to put my food in a bowl with alleys that makes me work harder to get my food, and slows me down. You even put my food bowl on a skateboard because you think I’ll like skateboards better. I eat my food right off it, even when it’s moving, but I still hate skateboards.

Patches has a lot of nerve and so do I.

ADVICE FROM OLIVER: BE CAREFUL OF MY WHISKERS. THEY ARE MY FEELINGS

I have a spot where I look outside to the world. Sometimes you come and watch with me. Today we saw something unusual. You were talking to a friend on your cell phone and telling her what we saw. A bent-over man was walking a very small dog, maybe a Yorkshire terrier. He was holding an extend-a-leash, the kind you would never ever use because you like to keep me close to you and you don’t want to trip anyone with the leash. The man wore shorts with a belt, dark socks pulled way up, old shoes, a blue hat, a tee shirt and glasses. In addition to his dog, the man was holding a little bowl filled with water and several baggies.

It was very hot out. The man was tripping over the leash and trying to balance the baggies in one hand and the bowl and the dog in the other. The dog took two tiny steps and stopped. The man took two more steps. The dog took two tiny steps and stopped again. The man put the water dish down. The dog didn’t drink. The man picked up the water dish and took two more steps. The man’s mouth turned down and the dog didn’t look happy either. The man put the water dish back on the sidewalk, and the dog did not drink. The man picked up the dish and took more two short steps. The dog would not budge. The man tried this once more, but the dog refused to walk.

Finally, the man picked the dog up under his arm, continued to balance the water in the dish, holding the baggies, and continued down the sidewalk until he crossed the street. You laughed and laughed so hard, you were holding your stomach. I did not understand why you were laughing. The dog did not want to walk or drink water. The man wasn’t listening to the dog. The dog was small but he had a big brain. He finally made the man understand what he wanted.

Oliver’s Advice: You must pay attention to your dog. S/he is speaking to you without words.

This morning we put the cabin dock in the water. I helped immensely. Four big guys in swim trunks and high boots unloaded themselves and their tools from a noisy truck. I rounded them up, nipped at their heels, barked my best herding barks, and down they ran right into the icy lake.

I have a way of making things go faster. They were very cold and shouted all kinds of words I didn’t understand. They were probably telling me how well I rounded them up. One said the cold water turned him into a girl.

I splashed into the water after them to wade and show off my great bravery. They called you down to the dock to come and get me. You ran to me and leashed me up. My job was done. I performed quite well, I think. They helped, of course. I believe in doing my share.

Next week, most of my family including their dogs will be with us to play on the dock. Maybe it will stop raining by then. There will be lots of frogs and food and good smells. Dog, we will have a good time.

Hello, everyone. Today you and I were walking around one of Minneapolis’ wonderful, odoriferous lakes. The tree bark smelled especially slurpy. I had just been groomed and I was very clean and handsome. That usually lasts about three days. A friendly, delicious labrador, wet and muddy from the lake, bounded out of nowhere to greet us. You were twirling around trying to keep him away because he was not on a leash and you had just paid a lot of green stuff to the kind person who grooms me.

From far away a woman called his name. She looked like she was pushing a stroller. You hurried toward her to help, and we both saw she wasn’t pushing a stroller at all. In fact, she was pushing a knee caddy, the kind you had in December when you broke your foot. She was out of control and her dog was out of control and it was a very bad thing. Suddenly, her knee caddy slipped out from under her, and she toppled over. Right on the gravel. Her dog pounced on her and sniffed and licked her until she grabbed her long Chuck-it with the ball in it and whacked her dog a few times on his back.

I felt very sad. So did you. We hurried to help, but she had already righted herself and gotten her caddy, dog, Chuck-it, and herself into the car. You talked to her through her car window. She was crying. Her face looked squinched up. She said she’d had a very bad day.

You get upset with me when I steal socks and shoes, but you have never ever hit me, especially with an instrument of torture. You get particularly mad at me when I turn down your bed. I will admit that my service is not at neat as it could be. After you have made the bed so nicely, I like to put my stamp of approval on it. I toss your pillows around and pull your bedding down just like I have seen in the hotels we stop in on our way to California. I am an amazing dog, quick as lightning.

Oliver’s Advice: You aren’t perfect, but thank you for not hitting me no matter how naughty I am.