I have a fourth roommate now, did I tell you? No, it’s not another surprise baby. It’s Inky, the Deadly Panther. Relations with Inky can be difficult, because all Inky-human communication is conducted through Strudel, which is good, because apparently if you rile Inky he will rip your fucking face off or something.

Inky has many needs and opinions, which are conveyed to us at all hours of the day.

“Inky would like some more blueberries, PLEASE!” Strudel tells us. You may not keep Mr. Inky waiting. Inky is referred to as “he” and “him” constantly but it is important for us to know that Inky is a GIRL PANTHER.

Strudel’s father and I were having a lively discussion on vacation, not even Serious Arguing for us, and Inky interrupted right in the middle. I think we were trying to decide what to do that day, or something. Having been raised by a pack of feral Italians, I tend to speak loudly and fling my hands around a lot.

(“YES,” I say, “GIVE ME MORE ORANGE JUICE for Christ’s sake.”)

“INKY DOESN’T LIKE IT WHEN YOU ARGUE,” Inky’s translator informed us.

“Tell Inky that he is a LITTLE TOO SENSITIVE,” I replied.

Inky wants to ride the bus. Inky wants to wear pajamas all day. Inky wants to listen to Fucking Noats. (I have told Inky repeatedly it’s “Hall and Oates” but Inky’s made up his mind.)

So now we are living under a dictatorship. An Inktatorship. Quick, send a banana republic to save us!!! (Inky prefers The Gap.)