... Midas tapped the keys of his Acer Ferrari as Mr Scampers, his rambunctious Jack Russell terrier, splashed in the wading pool nearby.

His cell rang then, and Scampers turned momentarily towards the sound. Answering, the dog continued playing.

"Yup, this is me. How are you?"

Scampers turned to look at every statement of his master.

"No, I'm not busy. Just learning this new scriptwriting program."

Neighbors laughed as a glass fell and shattered.

"Whaddya mean, the story doesn't have jeopardy?"

Scampers ate a bug that fell in the water.

"I don't have a hairdresser in the story."

Clouds over the Mojave Desert toiled to become thunderstorms and failed.

"Might I add that we're talking about a documentary here, not a porn film."

Scampers, too late, attempted to dodge a softball flying over the wall into the pool. His cry of anguish as his skull cracked, however, was drowned out by the passing overhead of an airliner.

"Alright, alright. How much are we talking here?"

A limousine quickly passed a carful of excited teenagers somewhere in Hollywood.

"Okay. I'll be in to sign the papers later. Goodbye."

Returning the phone on the ground beside him, Midas stood, noticing his twitching pet half-out of the pool.

"Mr Scampers! What's wrong boy?"