Pocket Dog, your intrepid reporter, is always ready to follow a lead when humans intrude on our peaceful world. My assignment took me to a luxurious apartment in New York City. I found Miranda C. Cat sleeping on a chair in the fading afternoon sunlight. I hopped up in a chair near her. She awoke, yawned, stretched, and asked me if I was Pocket the Reporter. I confirmed that was my identity. She agreed to answer my questions. “It is my understanding that on the afternoon of May 14, 2005, when you were two years of age, the owner of these towers, a Donald Trump grabbed you without your permission.” The cat licked her paw. “Yes, it is true. I was lying here asleep when I was picked up by what I thought, because of the hand size, was a child, but was, in fact, a large orange man. He snatched me right up. I said ‘excuse me, sir, I do not appreciate being grabbed without permission and he told me he was a huge star and touched unsuspecting kitties all the time. So I scr