Some things make me deliriously happy. Drag is one; drinking another. But nothing compares to getting a kiss from KiKi; we stopped by to bring him some homemade meatballs.

After our goodbyes, we started walking away and Leopoldo said, "Look. He won't go in." Ramon was calling him, but he just stared at us until we turned around the hedges. It was as if he was saying, "Why do you leave all the time." The emotional strings pulled and pushed by humans and their pets are a powerful force. In two months he turns eighteen.

A force of an entirely different type is downright lust, and I submit these photos to the court of world opinion.

Poor Mr. Astor is never safe when Mrs. Stuyvesant-Fish thunders into a room. Within minutes her drink is down on the table and her hands down Mr. Astor's pants. No wonder she can't show her face in Newport any longer.

The maniacal look on her face is proof enough that the poor thing is not in control of her faculties.

Still, she is a hoot and a dear friend (and Mr. Astor can take care of himself) so I'm shelving my petition to the authorities to have that looney wind bag put away again. I usually just have to dangle another cute Latino to distract her; she's quite predictable in that way. My poor husband is too cute for his own good.