I live with Miss New York. She barks orders at me every morning, insisting that her water cup be placed directly in front of her while she watches her morning television shows. If the volume on the boob tube is not to her liking, I am immediately summoned back into the living room to fix it. If her breakfast is too hot, it is requested that I blow on it. On rare occasions when she is extremely fatigued, I even help spoon feed her in an effort to help quicken the morning routine so we can get Miss New York to her destination. She tends to get lonely as well so if I am in the other room grooming myself for too long she yells, "Where are you?" Until I appear. Then there is the matter of doing her hair. Most of the time I rather enjoy it, but some days I would just as soon see to it that she be given a pixie cut. After finishing what I believe to be a well-executed braid, she roughly puts her fingers through one of the braid's intersections as if to test its durability.