Me: Who can this be, I wonder?
Poppy: It's me.
Me: No! But this is a good girl. I bet she doesn't turn the garden into an excavation site, or send puthers of cushion feathers over the picture frames.
Poppy: I'm a good girl, I am.
Me: So was Eliza Doolittle.
Poppy: She wasn't up to much.
Me: Well, she did remember to wash her face and paws. She had an admirer called Henry, just like you.
Poppy: Oh him. I'm not marrying Henry. His legs are too short. ...Come to think of it, that's quite a handicap.
Me: Poor Henry, he's such a handsome chap. He'll be heartbroken.
Poppy: Listen, I'm not marrying anyone. I'm a career girl.
Me: You mean into the side wall after that cat-shaped item?
Poppy: I'll give her boundaries! She sashays along the top like she's puffing Vivienne Westwood!
Me: Knows how to pose, that's for sure. Still, so does the mysterious girl in the picture.
Poppy: It's me! It's me! It's me! It's my pawtrait! Anyways, I am a career girl. I'm writing a book of furry tails for little pups.
Me: You don't say!
Poppy: Yes, I do! I've got an agent and a pawtfolio and everything. And that's my avatar for the fans.
Poppy: You just can't see me 'cos I'm not lookin' at you.
Me: I guess you're not looking at the cat, either!