People always say to me, when I get myself into a situation where I’m coddling a problem child, that someone saw me coming, didn’t they? Like Boo. They really saw me coming and they wheedled and cajoled me into taking him from the shelter (I was the only one who could do it, knowing his GI problem and all) and “giving him a loving forever home.” I do love Boo—he’s my first adopted cat after Tom and Jitney—and he really is quite an individualistic animal. I think he sniffed too much catnip when he was young and he's still having hallucinogenic episodes. Sometimes he will stare into the cosmos with that wide-eyed “deer in the headlights” look and you just know he’s picking spaceberries.

I do love him, but I don’t really understand him. He will whine for me to pet his belly, then he’ll turn on me and bite and scratch my hand. I don’t get it. Just be thankful, for crying out loud. Don’t attack me for trying to love you.

That is exactly what our mother did.