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When you have three cats and two of them have yakked over the course of the day, you reach 10pm and you’re waiting for the third one to produce something awful. It’s worse when that third one is prone to yakking on the bed.

But no — Malkin does not yak.  Instead he leaps from the litterbox in my office, mid-turd, drops one just on the other side of my desk, and then leaves a longer deposit as he races in and out of the bedroom.

I tell Word.  “I hate my cat,” she tells me. I know that isn’t entirely true, but there are other things I’d rather be thinking about on a summer’s evening than where the paper towels and sanitizers are.

Then again, the cats have never attempted to download naughty things, and they do seem to enjoy eating moths and mosquitos.  On the whole, good company.  But sometimes….