Last night we were honored with a visit from Mom’s friend and copywriting client, Ellen. Mom wrote the copy for Ellen’s website, Faces and Fortunes, back when she was charging about half of what she does now. Ellen’s site was very successful and they became phone friends. They met for the first time on Sunday. I went along to the Marqueen, where Ellen was staying. They wouldn’t let me go upstairs but the desk people fussed over me in the lobby.

Mom took advantage of the gift certificate she won at the Dog Park party last August (how appropriate!). She took Ellen to dinner at The Waterfront, an upscale seafood place in Seattle.

The waiter took this photo. After Mom downloaded it to Photoshop, she said she should have left a smaller tip. It was all blurry. She touched it up to get the photo. That’s my mom Cathy on the right. See, she does own some Real Clothes.

Did they bring home a treat for me? Hah. Such gratitude. I mean, if she didn’t own me, she wouldn’t have been at the dog park for the party. She’d have taken Ellen to the little Thai place around the corner.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ellen said. “I like Thai food.”

Maybe next time.

My mom Cathy was reading the Wall Street Journal last weekend, when she came across an article: Is Obama too Fit to be President.

Then Betsy Talbot’s Success Blog posted a review of a new book, The Chic Entrepreneur. Subtitle: Put your business in higher heels. Higher heels? Stilettos? No way.

And Penelope Trunk (author of The Brazen Careerist) laid down the law in her blog post: When it comes to offices, appearances matter.

Cathy was using some words that an innocent dog like me should never hear. I won’t tell you what she’s wearing as she types away at her copywriting business. And we can’t talk about her decorating skills, either. Some people are nesters. Let’s just say Cathy isn’t.

“Who cares about what people look like?” she said, tossing the paper across the room (not in my direction, thank goodness). “We all need to work at home, where no one can see us. Anyway, what would have happened to us if people judged politicians by looks back in World War II? Roosevelt in a wheel chair. Churchill about 100 pounds overweight. And somehow we won a war.

“And why are we still looking up (literally and metaphorically) to women in stilettos? When women can wear comfy shoes,” she concluded, “we’ll have real power. Let’s liberate our feet.”

Well, mom, let’s take my liberated paws and go for a nice walk. I don’t care what I look like, although every day someone gives me a compliment. “Cute dog.” “Beautiful fur.” “Sweet face.”

But I have to be fair. Cathy doesn’t choose housemates based on looks. I looked pretty awful in my Petfinder.com mug shot. And we just adopted a cat that looks like a basketball with fur.

Sometimes dog owners think too much. It’s my job to keep our eye on the prize: dog parks, treats and chew toys. What else matters?

My mom Cathy discovered basketball about 10 years ago. At first she didn’t know what a point guard was, but now she’s a die-hard WNBA fan.

Here she is, dressed appropriately for a Seattle Storm game in the WNBA shirt she bought when she first saw a game in 2004, and the dorky Storm cap she bought in 2005. She’s posing with our neighbor Diana just outside Key Arena where fans mourn a 7-point loss to the Connecticut Sun.

Diana played college hoops so my mom always asks her to explain the finer points of the game.

Big deal. As far as I’m concerned, Diana’s only virtue is she’s co-owner of my awesome dog pal, Bailey. I get so excited when I see Bailey out walking with one of her owners. My mom pulls on my leash and yells, “No jumping!” Yeah, right.

My mom always gives me a pre-game walk around the neighborhood. She wears her Storm shirt and cap and we greet all the other fans who are similarly attired. I’m embarrassed to be seen with her in public in that outfit, so I do my business quickly and give her that special “Let’s go home” tug on the leash.

“Where else can I wear that t-shirt?” Mom says. “I’ve got half a dozen free ones from the Storm and other t-shirts from events in New Mexico and….”

Ever hear the saying, “Whoever dies with the most toys wins?”

I don’t know about toys, but at this rate my mom Cathy will eventually die with the most t-shirts. In the arena of dressing for comfort, she’s the big winner.

Uh oh…My mom Cathy got into a long phone call this morning. She was clicking on her laptop, intensely muttering about blogs and teleseminars and keywords…and totally ignoring me.

So what’s a dog to do? I decided to help my mom out. See, Cathy really, really hates dressing up. She totally detests dress shoes, which she defines as anything except Asics and Birkenstocks. .

Now, I happen to know these loafers pinch her feet. She can barely walk across the room in them. And they’re not exactly in style. She needs to throw them out.

So I’m going to accelerate the process. Mmm…delicious leather. Probably fake, but who cares?

Yeah, I’ve got a handful of chew toys. But why eat hamburger when you can have steak? And why go for a chew toy when you can have a shoe? Yum.

My mom doesn’t get it. She’s using words that should not be uttered in the presence of a CUPPIE. My royal ears are sensitive.

“Gracie, I have a speaking engagement next week! I have to look presentable! What will I wear?”

Well, if it were me, I’d pad across the room in my bare paws. Who says dogs are dumb?

Good thing I’ve got an outing planned with my Aunt Sara. We’ll go run in the park while my mom goes to the gym and runs her errands and works. By tomorrow, the shoes will be in the garbage, where they belong, and my mom will go out and choose a new pair of running shoes.

“Maybe I’ll get a pedicure and wear my Birkies,” Mom said wistfully.

Good idea. Never mind that she’s never had a pedicure, but I get one with every bath. Go for it, mom!

My mom Cathy isn’t exactly hip (as you’ve probably gathered by now). She actually likes classical music, although she feels a little behind the curve because she’s never played a musical instrument. Learning about music is one of Cathy’s Life Goals.

She signed up for yesterday’s concert because she wanted to hear violinist Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg. Cathy had watched the moving documentary about Nadja’s life, Speaking in Strings. When she discovered Nadja was caring for an elderly tabby cat, not unlike the one who shares our household, she became a fan.

Cathy also loved Nadja’s sense of humor and she treasured the moment when a stranger asks the world-class soloist, “Do you play the fiddle? And can you play Orange Blossom Special?” Nadja answered politely, “With my eyes closed.”

So she knew she had to see the live performance.

My mom is still learning about music, so she listened to the pieces ahead of time. She loved the piece Nadja played (Bruch’s Concerto No. 1 for Violin).

But as we were going out for our walk afterward, she ran into James, one of our fellow tenants. James happens to be one of my biggest fans, so she had to stop and say hello.  I heard her saying, “I loved the way this artist challenged the dress code of the female performer. She was wearing blue and white trousers - a bit odd, but she probably got them in New York - and a simple top. She stood athletically on the stage.”

“Yeah,” said Cathy’s neighbor James. “Not one of those prom dress things. Like she’s here to play music as a professional.”

“Right,” Cathy said, warming up to one of her favorite subjects. “These days women are flying combat missions. They’re cops and airline pilots. It’s ridiculous to have men in suits and women in those revealing gowns. Distracting.”

She stopped long enough to hear her neighbor’s account of his night at the ballet, which she had already seen. They agreed it was a beautiful production. Cathy doesn’t mind ballet costumes, although she thinks it’s ridiculous for female skaters to wear those ditzy outfits. She refuses to watch skating because, she says, they look ridiculous.

Luckily, the subject never came up.

Then (at last!) we headed out. After 4 hours in my crate, I needed this break.

OK, I don’t stop with food. Cathy got some flats to wear when she absolutely, positively can’t wear sneakers. We can’t call them “dress shoes” because Cathy doesn’t do dress-up.

She hates to buy shoes because none of them fit. She’s right. Her feet are shaped more like shoe boxes than shoes.

So she buys whatever she can, spending as little as possible. She spends more on concert tickets, books and (thankfully) dog walking. She just begrudges paying for anything that causes pain and pinches her toes.

This last pair were pretty ugly. She was desperate and they fit, more or less. But she knew: they really should go.

I saw what was needed. On her own, she would never replace them. It was my duty to chew them up. Now she’s forced to buy new ones.

So…why did she yell, “Oh no, Gracie!” and shove me into my crate? When do I get a nice thank you biscuit?

When hell freezes over…or Cathy voluntarily dresses up when she doesn’t have to. Not tomorrow, for sure.

My mom, Cathy, doesn’t mind spending money on me. She’ a very generous owner. I get trips to the dog park and outings with my Aunt Sara. I eat high quality dog food (when my tummy isn’t doing the tango…otherwise I have to eat yukky rice). I have a kind vet who keeps reminding Cathy that I’m a great dog. And the folks at the Downtown Dog Lounge adore me. They use me for temperament testing when a new dog comes.

As soon as the weather gets just the least bit chilly, all the dogs in the park start dressing up. They have little coats and sweaters. They look so cute! One dog at the Lounge wears pink with ruffles, to match his mom’s color scheme. Adorable.

But do I have a coat? Ha.

During my first winter with Cathy, we had some really cold days. Brr! So my mom called the vet.

“Does Gracie really need a coat?”

“Is she shivering? Does she seem comfortable? Then it’s optional.”

“Good,” my mom said. “I can’t imagine stuffing her into a sweater every time we go out.”

So I’m the only naked dog you’ll see on the bus.

It’s hard to argue. Cathy is not exactly into fashion herself. Her idea of dressing up is wearing her best pair of shorts (in summer) or her favorite sweats (winter). And on really special occasions, she’ll break out a new pair of running shoes.

The good news is: We live near a wonderful clothing store, Peridot. The young women who work there are dog-friendly. I always say hello to the resident dog, Scout. And they save Cathy’s butt when she has to look presentable. Last week she had to give a presentation and they sold her a coat dress (do I have to say it was on sale?) and told her how to accessorize it. Here she is, looking about as presentable as she gets.