Evidence: Shaggy, sprawled across the buggy/pushchair/disabled bay of a London bus as though public infrastructure were a personal entitlement. The Overground had failed him—obviously—so he was compelled to take the bus, and then the Tube, for the very first time. He arrived wearing his purple argyle jumper: the unmistakable “please be nice to me, I’m enormous and in the way” ensemble. According to further reports, he later stretched himself dramatically across the Tube floor

It appears that, due to an over-enthusiastic interpretation of the name Shaggy Dog, access to the website is blocked on NHS desktop systems. Shaggy Dog wishes to record that he is entirely non-controversial, quietly behaved, and slightly surprised by this development. He also wishes to note that NHS computers are for work, not browsing, and that while the site can be accessed on a mobile phone, one probably shouldn’t be doing that at work either. Shaggy Dog remains, nonethele

“I don’t think I ever stopped being beautiful. I think I just rested. They say I was coaxed out, prepared, gently reminded. But really, it wasn’t about getting up or stepping forward. It was about remembering. I didn’t leap from the bed. I stayed where I was, warm and known. The world came closer instead. Hands moved slowly. Voices softened. Someone took the time to look again. I didn’t need much doing to me. Nothing was added. A little care, a little attention—that was enoug

I did not mean to bat it. It sparkled. This is important context. The retro chandelier had presence. Fused glass. Gold leaf. Confidence. I was sitting quietly, being decorative, when it caught the light and behaved provocatively. A paw happened. The object responded by swinging. This seemed unnecessary. I would like to clarify that this was not play. This was investigation. Science, perhaps. The chandelier survived. The human did not enjoy the experiment. In conclusion: If it

I don’t really know what the necklace is about, but I know why I like it on him. It sits lightly around Shaggy Dog’s neck, different from his usual collar. Less practical, perhaps, but somehow more important. He seems to feel it too. When he lifted his head, I realised he thought this was what models do. There was a pause — a moment of stillness — as if he were trying to understand his role. The cat does this very differently, with practiced ease. Shaggy Dog approaches it wit

Some models get out of bed for money. I don’t get out of bed. But for Shaggy Dog, I did. Apparently, I’m now in competition with him to be the face of Shaggy Dog. Frankly, I hadn’t realised it was a contest until he lifted his head like that—that precise moment when he discovers he’s a model. You can see it happen. The posture. The awareness. The quiet confidence. Very sweet.

Over Christmas, there was a lot of company. Affection. Stimulation. Shaggy Dog was present. Shaggy Dog keeps his distance. Sensible. I, however, briefly remembered that I am a predator. I loved my human so much that I bit his nose and drew blood. As you can see, this was immediately regretted. I do not enjoy the metallic taste. I have never truly been a hunter. Dry food is vastly superior. My human, despite this, has no boundaries. He loves me anyway. Even though he went to w