My neighbors have a new puppy, Gemma. I first learned about Gemma, though not in a way I could understand, from another long-time member of that family: Juliet, a friendly tabby who has a timeshare interest in the soft reading chairs on our back porch. She came running up to me, meowing wildly, as I was out for a walk. I petted her, but she continued complaining, looking over her shoulder, unable to calm down enough to roll on the sidewalk and allow me to stroke her ears. I said to her, “What is it, Juliet, are you sick, what’s the matter?” But of course she had no way of telling me what was really going on. After a few days of encountering Juliet in this agitated state, I finally met Gemma, an exuberant and tiny terrier mix, capable of leaping at least a couple of feet in the air in ecstatic greeting. She tied herself in wriggling knots, flinging herself at me and licking my hands, while my neighbor, holding her leash, both laughed and rolled her eyes.