"I think," said Smush one morning around a mouthful of Bran-nuts n' Things™, "that it's high time we got a pet."
"What kinda critter are you thinking?" Mogey queried.
"Well now that's a good question, Mogesly. It can't be a dog..."
"Not our style," Mogey agreed.
"Nor a cat."
"Can't have a pet who's smarter than us."
"A pig is out," Smush noted.
"We'd eat the blaggard!"
"And I couldn't bear to keep a bird in a cage."
"How melancholy-sweet the songbird's hymn / imprison'd by the cretin's whim," Mogey versified.
"But I might just have an idea that'll be up our alley," Smush declared. "Meet Stuart Bennigan Plump."
Smush pulled a small pet carrier from beneath the table. Inside sat a toad wearing a housecoat and slippers, watching a miniature television, and eating a drumstick. (Not some kind of grasshopper drumstick, either - a full-sized chicken leg.)
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Mogey said warmly.
"Yeah, yeah," Stuart Bennigan Plump replied, waving Mogey away.
"I love him," Mogey told his pal.
"Hey!" Stuart Bennigan Pump shouted. "You guys got any dippin' sauces in this dump? Or what?"
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