Sue is not a morning person. She’s not a noon person. Doesn’t really like the late afternoons much either. She tolerates the evening, and, as I get ready for bed, she is wide awake.

“You go ahead, I’ve got some e-mail to catch up on, some laundry to do, I want to clean the oven, can some tomatoes, order some seeds, hem those slacks I just bought.” It’s been like this for 35 years.

I’m almost used to it.

About three years ago, I went to the pet rescue place to get a replacement cat. I didn’t want a kitten, I wanted a full-grown, housebroken cat. There were hundreds of cats trying to out-cute one another. I’m not a cat expert, I just like low-maintenance pets.

My last cat used to like it when – after dinner parties – I would pick him up like a ventriloquist’s dummy and put words in his mouth.

“Jim, does this fur make me look fat?” “Jim, was I adopted?” “Jim, can I take a personal day off tomorrow?” “Jim, let’s talk about my 401K plan.”

So, feeling good in general about cats, I picked up the first one that rubbed up against my leg and let me pet her.