OK, now that I've confirmed that my 19 pound behemoth of a cat is alive and kicking, I can move on to the little matter of Mr. Peebles. Reader Teresa S. opines, "Mr. Peebles is Peeb-dorable!" and friends, she does not lie. I was first told about the tiny tabby while still away on holiday, and a good part of my last night among the dunes was spent entertaining the notion of an even more miniscule cat, of a size that would fit easily into your shirt pocket. You could surrepticiously feed him tasty morsels of your filet-o-fish, or you could let him climb up onto your head for a fashionable evocation of Fess Parker / Marc Antony. We just need to find a Mrs. Peebles and the breeding program can commence.