“I miss my dogs,” Joe said, slumped down in his office chair. He held back a cough and a little more pee dribbled into his diaper.

“They had to go, Joe,” Kamala said, drinking in his sadness like a Citrus Fresca. “Major bit a Secret Service agent.”

“He didn’t mean to!” Joe said.

“Intent doesn’t matter,” Kamala said, “I’m an important lawyer. I know things.”

“It was just a nip!’ Joe said. The color was rising in his face, his heart monitor beeping erratically.

“Joe,” Kamala said gently. “The agent died. That’s not a ‘nip.’”

“He died?” Joe asked, tears in his rheumy eyes.

“Yes. And the family said you aren’t welcome at his funeral.”

“My, my wife’s a doctor! I have to go to the funeral!”

“There might be riots,” Kamala said. “You have to stay here to be safe.”

“But the COVID Relief and State Security bill!’ Joe said. “I have to be on the floor of the Senate to vote for it!”

“The CRABASS will just have to pass without you,” Kamala said, laughing behind her giant man hand.

“Where’s Finnegan? I need Finnegan!” Joe said, struggling to stand and falling back into his office chair.

“She is in Delaware, with the dogs,” Kamala said.

“No! She doesn’t deserve to have to go to Delaware! No one does!” Joe wailed.

“She bit her Secret Service agent as well. No one in your family ever learned tooth manners.”

“That can’t be true. Dr. Finnegan-wife would never bite anyone!”

“She bit him during sex, Joe,” she said.

“This is a nightmare, a nightmare,” Joe sobbed.

“Yes, they were having the biting kind of sex,” Kamala said and crossed the room to frottage the horrifying John F. Kennedy bust.

She didn’t bother to stop when Finnegan came in the Oval Office, officious in her sexless blob of a sweater and clogs.

“Why are you crying, Grandpa?” she asked as she set down his injections and pills and creams and sprays and drops for the day.

“Finnegan killed someone, Jill. Killed him with her sex teeth!” Joe blubbered.

“Women don’t have teeth down there, Grandpa. I’ve told you that before.”

Kamala groaned and laughed.