Every walk with William, my American Cocker Spaniel, was a walk on the wild side. My husband and I are sure that he was nearsighted since he had a perpetual Mr. Magoo look in his eyes that made even the simplest trip to attend the call of nature an adventure into “here be dragons” territory. During graduate school, we lived in a modest brownstone in New York with no outdoor access for William, so walkies were a big part of my husband’s and my daily routine. Summer and winter,

Ginger cats, red cats, yellow cats, orange cats, or marmalade cats…call them what you will, they will always occupy a special corner of my heart. Now don’t get me wrong. There is not a cat (or dog, for that matter, or rabbit, guinea pig, iguana or canary—I am working up to tarantulas) that I don’t fall for and immediately upon meeting start envisioning in my own home, sleeping on my own bed, but marmalade cats have that je ne sais quoi that, as the phrase denotes, I cannot re

First and most fun…Our three babies are now old enough to have the run of the large cat room. And believe me, they take advantage of their new-found freedom. The room vibrates with kitten energy as our little ones pounce and stalk and attack anything that moves. Walking into the room yesterday I was accosted by two of these fierce hunters who saw my shoes as perfect targets in their game of catch and kill! Shuffling around with a kitten on each foot, I began my day. Mercedes,