September 29th, 2026
Dear Diary,
Cathedral Mass today. Disaster… named Chester. Fr. Gilbert brought him to the SnT rectory because Mrs. K was away. He said Chester has separation anxiety. HAH! After all this time he doesn’t get it. Chester doesn’t get anxious. Chester makes anxious.
Mass was going okay. The choir wasn’t awful and Deacon Awful Carl was safely in a pew where he couldn’t touch anything. During the offertory procession something brushed against my leg. Chester. In the sanctuary. Gilbert saw him and started fake whispering, “Treat!”. I ignored him. Chester not Gilbert. Chester just lied down on the marble floor and rolled around for a while so we thought it might be ok. Maybe people would think it was some St Francis thing and would like the bit with the dog. When E2 Prayer started Chester spotted my zucchetto on the table. I’ve never seen the damn mut move so fast. He grabbed it, ran with his bizzare limp around the altar dodging servers and headed straight down the center aisle. People laughed. Some clapped and cheered. Letter writers probably. Msgr. Tommy had his hand over his face and his shoulders were shaking. Little traitor claims he was coughing. Razzo yelled from the front pew, “Hey Bishop! He wants ya job!” More clapping. After the VG said the coms gal wouldn’t cut the live feed and actually said … to the VG… “HELL NO! The views are going up!”
Chester wasn’t finished. Gotta be possessed. Gotta check on that maybe with… Jude? Not Dozer. Chester came back into the sanctuary, jumped into MY chair and sat on my zucchetto. When I went over to get him, the deformed little shit growled at me. In MY cathedral, little bastard. I am getting ready for a special trip to the vet. Gilbert finally lured Chester down with three unconsecrated wafers like Communion. Tommy was watching so … well… no. He was perfectly docile at that point. He scratched himself and did that loud licking thing he does. My beenie was full of dog spit and had holes in it so I didn’t put it on again. At the end of Mass I tried to lighten things up with a dog joke “Scripture says, like the dog returns to his vomit, Chester returned my chair rich is symbalism …”. Silence. People just stared. I wanted to die.
Worse. Today the comms girl showed me the pictures circulating online: Chester on MY CHAIR looking serious – NEW BISHOP OF LIBVILLE. Another one said: AT LAST. Someone offered to buy Chester a pectoral cross. A joker ha ha asked about his first pastoral letter.
But the diocesan donation page received 14 thousand dollars. A win! M Tommy said, dammit, “They haven’t responded this well to … you… well….” Little ingrate. Mrs. Kennedy came in and ran out laughing. Sr Randi… ugh. I am surrounded by traitors.
Chesters asleep under my dining room table. All I have is frozen pizza in the thing and I don’t want to go out in public. I’ll have Fr G order something with Doorstop. I have to look into vet appointments.
Gregg the Obscure on St. Peter’s Basilica… Archpriest Card. Gambetti is out. Who will be next?: “my late mother-in-law, God rest her soul, was fond of saying “when i first saw a policeman younger than me,…”
