For instance, he recently took his cats to Old Town and hired a pet trainer for Andromeda. At least I think this guy is supposed to be a pet trainer. Two things. One, I don't know how dangling a red bag in front of a cat is supposed to train them to do anything. And two, he sort of looks like a member of the Gestapo in that outfit.

You vil now fetch! Achtung!

After the intense session of bag-gazing with Gestapo Pete, Andromeda was ready to enter her first pet show. At least Rupert thought so-- he took her straight over to the pet showing area and entered her in a contest. How sweet. Too bad she couldn't jump high enough to get on the table. Giles had to help push her little butt up there.

I think I can! I think I can!

Then the judging started. Nearest I can tell, the key bit was this staring contest. During which the judge noticed that Andromeda has creepy red glowing eyes. Oooh. Perhaps she is a minion of fluffy evil.

Pardon me, sir? You didn't happen to find this cat wandering around a Pet Sematary or anything, did you?

After that, the judge told her to "sit." She blinked at him with her eyes of evil fluffiness. Then Rupert grabbed her and sat her up himself. See below, where she is staring at him as if to say, "Why are you subjecting me to this indignity? For the love of god, why?" Or possibly, "Where are my Friskies?" She's a cat, I dunno.

Sorry, she only understands German.

Finally, after an arduous competition, Rupert Giles and his cat Andromeda were awarded "the coveted Booby Prize." The sad thing is (say it with me now) it's the only booby he's likely to get for a long, long time.

Rupert came home and proudly displayed the Booby Prize in the cabinet he purchased just for the occasion. (He has one cabinet that's empty except for a llama, and now this one, empty except for a booby prize. Boy, does he know how to decorate.)

Yay! Woo! Whee! Someone kill me.

In the meantime, the proud winner was eating a victory bowl of Friskies.

Before he jumps off a bridge, I hope he remembers to refill this.

And Polonius was entertaining himself in his own, special, brain-dead sort of way. He's clearly the Keanu Reeves of cats.

Snacks that swim. Woah.

Elsewhere in the neighborhood, the Doe family (John, John, and John) got a dalmatian puppy. What else could they name her but Jon-Benet? (If I wasn't going to hell before...)

Here she is sniffing John Stamos' crotch...

Fertilizing John Quincy Adams' flowerbed....

And wondering what the hell John Scalzi is trying to get at here...

And I have no idea what is going on here between Scalzi, Stamos and Mo Pie, but I think it's funny that everyone, even little Jon-Benet, is pissed off about something.

You all suck! Or something.

Feeling pity for poor Rupert Giles, brooding at home alone, I went back and built him a pool with a waterslide.

Oh, this is jolly fun!

And Andromeda got pretty pissed off when she realized that she can't swim.

Damn it! I can't swim!

Hmm. Maybe I should hire Gestapo Pete again, and he can teach her how to dog paddle. Ja vol!