The first sounds I hear when I arrive home each evening are the soft, but urgent, meows of my new cat Edgar. He is a young one- about six months old- and still at the stage where he worries that I may never return. I am barely able to set down my bags before he is weaving in, out and all around me. When I walk upstairs cries come from the first floor, for once again Edgar thinks I have left him.
In the kitchen the meows continue and I am always fooled into thinking that hunger is the problem. I work quickly to get his evening meal prepared only to be met with a toss of the head and another cry.
Finally, I take a seat on the couch. Edgar is right there- jumping on my lap and rolling over so I can scratch under his chin and stroke his soft, black fur. It's then I remember that he's just a baby and needs a little one on one attention.
Strike Zone - We called this morning to reserve a lane at the local bowling alley. "Uh," said the attendant, "we don't do that on weekends, but at 1:30? I don't think yo...
13 hours ago