Our cats are both on the youngish side of rambunctious, nearly a year and not quite two years old, respectively. Every once in a while, they go into what Amy and I affectionately refer to as “psycho-kitty” mode. Their pupils get very wide, their tails start to twitch madly, and they start tearing ass around the apartment, killing anything that moves and, for good measure, assaulting anything that looks like it might move sometime in the future.
  This morning, when I dragged my lazy butt out of bed, I discovered that they had taken the latest round of p-k to new heights. They de-arranged the couch cushions and knocked most of the stuff off of the coffee table, entertainment center, and Amy’s desk. That is all per the usual madness. This time, though, they somehow managed to pull the tablecloth completely off, despite it being weighed down by a good sized book of coupons and a ceramic snack dish. The dish only happened to not smash because Amy and I have been leaving our snow-covered shoes near the table, and it seems to have bounced off of them before hitting the floor. If we’d been less concerned about tracking dirty wetness about the house, we’d be short one slightly adorable snowman-shaped snack dish. Talk about your close calls.

  Remember that joke that kids used to play on each other? “Say ‘I’, then spell ‘cup!’” Boy, that was the height of hilarity when you were six, wasn’t it? Well, all of a sudden, Charlatan likes to (spell cup). Unless I shut the bathroom door firmly enough to latch it, she comes barging in as soon as she hears the clank of the toilet lid against the tank. She’ll climb up and perch on the side of the tub, and watch the goings on in the bowl. I can’t even reach over to put her on the floor, for fear of anointing every surface in the bathroom. I’m sure it says something about me that I’m slightly embarrassed about urinating in front of my cat. What it says, I’m not sure.

  As I was typing this revealing look into the feline life forms residing here, Barrymoore decided to investigate. Sensing, somehow that I was passing on secrets that might jeopardize national kitty security. In an effort to thwart me, he climbed into my lap, inserting himself betwixt myself and the keyboard. He then proceeded to lick and nibble on the back of my hands. It was very sweet and affectionate, but it made it impossible to hit the correct keys in sequence. Fortunately, he’s much smaller than me, so I was able to remove him, after pausing to love him up for a few minutes.
  God help us if they ever evolve thumbs.

  Tonight, I had the following conversation with my eight-year old cousin Jackie. She was sitting on the couch at my parent’s house, looking at the new calendar my mother bought her for Christmas.
JACKIE: Hey, what day is my birthday?
ME: You mean the date?
J: No, what DAY is it?
M: You mean which day of the week?
J: Yeah.
M: Um, I don’t know. Sunday.
J: No! Wrong!
(At this point, I tried to move in and look where she was pointing.)
J: Hey! No way!
M: I just want to know what month it is.
J: It’s between Tuesday and Friday.
M: Hm. Uh, Wednesday?
J: Right. How come you don’t know what month my birthday is?
M: I don’t know. I just don’t remember.
J: You should know that! You’ve known me for eight years!
M: Well, you’ve known me for eight years too, and you don’t know mine. When is yours, anyway?
J: October 6th.
M: Mine is in October, too. The 30th.
J: I KNEW IT WAS IN OCTOBER!
M: Well, Jackie, you are very smart. I am very dumb. You are very cute, I am not at all attractive. You are very strong, I am weak and wimpy.
J: Wait, I’m stronger than you?
M: (laughs heartily)
J: Why is everything I say so funny?
M: Because, a strong sense of irony is not something you’ve developed at age eight.
J: What?
M: Let’s just say that, in 10 or 15 years, I’m going to tell you all about this conversation, and we’ll have a good laugh.
J: But what if you forget?

  She is smarter than me.