Readers of this periodical expect topics of great pith. You hunger for political insights and scandalous memories of Lakewood (Ohio) High School, the alma mater of three of our contributors.
But this column is closer to home.
A new cat is joining my household.
He is orange and 2 years old, having arrived as a foundling at my friend Gwen’s door. He made it known that he was hungry. She fed him, had him chipped and fixed, and bought him a shoebox’s worth of colorful plastic toys that he enjoyed and then eviscerated.
Cats are jungle animals, after all.
The remains of his toys will be part of his trousseau when Gwen moves out of state next week.
We have met, and he’s licked and sniffed my toes, which have traces of my resident cat, who is 11.
Will they like each other? Will they hate me? And what shall his name be?
One friend suggested “Trudeau,” in case he wants to flee to Canada.
Time will tell. And so will I, in a later column. Keep your whiskers tuned.
