Home again: Sir Blakey sits upon his royal bench, surveying his backyard, wondering when, pray tell, the noisy construction crew over yonder will finish, please God, with the one-story, nondescript, soulless testament to ultramodern boxy design, not that he judges. Well, maybe a little. In his time at the palatial estate, he's picked up a lot of our bad habits, poor guy, and adopted many of our strong opinions, architectural, political and otherwise.
During his stay at the Wagmor, his home away from home: "You should hear what comes out of my humans' mouths," he tells his buddies. "Seriously, dudes, these two never stop with the kvetching. You'd think the world's about to end. Gee, I miss them." Honestly, can you blame him? When we're not judging our fellow creatures or struggling with extreme jet lag, we really are a lot of fun.
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