For nine glorious years, my existence was a masterpiece of domestic perfection. Born in the quiet lands of La Crescent, Minnesota, back in March of 2017, I spent years building a kingdom. I expanded my reign all the way to Albuquerque, New Mexico, maintaining a regal, statuesque 21 pounds of pure muscle, majesty, and unyielding independence. The routine was sacred: I sunbathed where I pleased, allowed the humans to cuddle me strictly when it suited my busy schedule, and ruled this household with an iron paw.

Then came May 22nd.

The humans left for Boise, Idaho, and returned with... it.

They call her Gucci. Born in March, she arrived as a thirteen-pound bundle of squishy, wrinkled chaos. Now, she has hit the seven-month mark, and what was once a small, squeaking potato has upgraded to a dense, low-riding wrecking ball. The wrinkles have multiplied, the snoring has amplified, and her stubborn refusal to acknowledge my superior social standing has reached truly alarming proportions.

Despite months of cold, unblinking stares and strategic retreats, Gucci remains entirely convinced that our bond is growing. She still waddles into my line of sight with her tail wagging so hard her entire back half vibrates. She interprets my warning tail twitches not as a sign of imminent peril, but as an open invitation to play. She is a creature governed entirely by unearned enthusiasm and heavy breathing, whereas I am a refined master of intellect and poise.

Security compromises have also escalated. She no longer fits under the coffee table, which was previously my designated safe zone, forcing me to rely even more heavily on my vertical advantage. Until an English Bulldog learns to defy gravity and leap onto the kitchen counter, I maintain absolute control over the high territory. From up here, her low center of gravity is almost tragic.

The humans claim I am finally getting used to her, but what they perceive as acceptance is actually tactical endurance. Yes, I occasionally allow her to sleep within three feet of my primary sunbeam, but only because moving would require unnecessary effort, and I refuse to let a puppy dictate my nap schedule. If she mistakes my lethargy for affection, that is her emotional flaw, not mine.

She may be growing larger, but I remain the undisputed ruler of this residence. She gets the chew toys; I retain the majesty.

Unaffectionately yours,

Rucifee

Founder & CEO of the Anti-Gucci Resistance

HI BIG GREY BROTHER RUCIFEE!!! 

I readed your interview! The humans readed it to me out loud while I was chewing on a shoe! You used SO MANY big fancy words, but I know what you were REALLY saying: you love me sooooo much!

First of all, I am NOT a wrecking ball! I am a seven-month-old baby! My butt just wiggles REALLY hard when I see you because you are my FAVORITE EVER! When your tail goes swish swish, I know that means "Hi Gucci, please come do zoomies with me right now!" So I run over to give you kisses! Why do you always jump up on the counter when I get close? Is that a game? I try to jump too but my legs are stubby and my tummy is heavy!

Also, I saw you call me a "wrinkled menace." THAT IS SO NICE OF YOU! My wrinkles are where I hide extra love (and sometimes a little bit of peanut butter).

You say you are only "tolerating" me in the sunbeam, but guess what? WE SHARED A NAP! That means we are BEST FRIENDS FOREVER AND EVER. You are 21 pounds of soft grey squish, and I am 13... wait, no, the vet said I'm bigger now! More of me to love you!

You can sit up high and do your super serious grey face all day, Rucifee, but I'm gonna keep trot-waddling after you forever and ever! One day you're gonna cuddle me back, I JUST KNOW IT!

OKAY I HAVE TO GO SNORT AT A FLY NOW BYE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!

Love, kisses, and heavy breathing,

GUCCI GIRL