One four-day weekend, three parties at which I created social tension for myself and others by paying markedly more attention to pets than to other people. First, the chocolate 'n' caramel Australian shepherd who could fetch in near-total darkness, and then the blue fawn Dobie who shimmered like a swordfish and whimpered for coconut muffin. Today, at a barbecue, the most acute case: in which I, cranky, sun-fatigued and dissatisfied with the company, found that the only thing that could hold my attention were the cat's pantaloons, his bloomers. Those ultra-fluffy, billowing tracts of fur on the back of a longhair's back legs? In full view of many, I crawled around after this cat, a ditzy tuxedo male, asking him "Quien tiene patalones? TU TIENES PANTALONES, los pantalones que mas grande!" etc. I was ensorcelled by his puffery, and may have apologies to make.