You don't know how poncey this guy is. Like the time he described the way I was cleaning up the leaves in the garden as interesting.
     I could have booted his smug fat face in there and then. Josefa O'Donnell was the surviving daughter, the princess. From her mother she inherited warmth of nature and a dusky, semi-tropic beauty. From Ben O'Donnell the royal she acquired a store in intrepidity, common sense, and the faculty of ruling. The combination was was worth going miles to see. Josefa while riding her pony at a gallop could put five out of six bullets through a tomato-can swinging at the end of a string. She could play for hours with a white kitten she owned, dressing it in all manner of absurd clothes. Scorning a pencil, she could tell you out of her head what 1545 two-year-olds would bring on the hoof, at $8.50 per head. Roughly speaking, the Espinosal Ranch is forty miles long and thirty broad - but mostly leased land. Josefa, on her pony, had prospected over every mile of it. Every cow-puncher on the range knew her by sight and was a loyal vassal.
     But this is about Dixie, back to Dixie. Dixie was the Mona Lisa of felines and had to be protected from these alien invaders. The tide couldn't be stemmed by George on guard with his supersoaker for every single one of Christ's minutes, so George bought a Flapatronic, an electronic cat flap which can be operated only by the secretly encoded Flapatronic collar.