Sometimes it gets lonely in New York. The best cinematic portrayal I’ve ever seen of this estranged feeling is in Thirteen Conversations About One Thing when the old guy gets on the subway and shares that sad smile with the woman who has just decided to leave her husband. We all put on our street gear, adorned however we wish the world to accept us, but we’re all toting around baggage as well—and I’m not talking the Louis Vuitton kind. In a land where “networking” and “friendships” walk a blurry tight rope—and blogs can blab your beeswax in like, a second—sometimes its hard to find a buddy to confide in. Perhaps that’s why FlexPetz is the new/old buzz. The best thing about furry pals is, even though they obey English, they’ll never betray those little secrets you whisper in their ear during those rented hours you spend together, strolling the park, or just cuddling in bed or on the couch watching TV. Too bad for the ole Spitz, the same doesn’t go for hookers. Perhaps sleazy politicians should just settle for some sloppy kisses from one of these guys. They’re loyalty, from what I hear, is through the roof. And they don’t require penthouse suites or any of that junk. A bite of your deli sandwich will suffice.