In an attempt to swap out all the pooch ads over there on Google, I say…

CATS! And/or kittens.

Meow.

Wacky Cat Two, the Stripedy One, is losing his little kitten brain trying to dash outside to play a game my son fondly calls “Catch-Kill Birdy.” Wacky Boy likes playing this game himself. This game, it is not good. And it’s especially tempting to play it on gorgeous, sunny and clear days like today. It must have gotten to sixty degrees earlier — it’s fabulous. Wacky Boy and I gardened and weeded all afternoon, then brought out the wagon and walked over to pick up his sister from school. He fell asleep on the way there and is still asleep, two hours later, nestled in a bed of blankets and coats. Thank you, Radio Flyer.

Wacky Cat Two is a fierce, efficient hunter and has been known to dart outside, kill a critter, leave it on the front porch for our admiration, then dart back in the house for kibbles all within a ten-minute period. We try to keep him in as much as possible — he’s also a street-fighting cat and I can’t afford the vet bills. Or losing another pet. Also, he enjoys sunning himself in the middle of our fairly busy street. Not the best survivor instincts, our guy. But with Wacky Pooch gone, he is more playful than ever.

I thought at least he’d mourn for a little while, maybe look around for his former buddy. But no. He is playful kitten again, our nine-year-old cat, and loves to play chase, grab paper out of the scrap bag and throw it around the room, climb under the covers and tickle feet. He’s giddy. I guess he was tired of the dog trying to rip off his limbs every time he walked through the room. (Me at the time, rationalizing: “The dog sure seems to be nipping at the cat a lot. Wacky Dog, no!”)

No Catch-Kill Birdy today, friend.

Wacky Cat One, the sleek beauty, is coming into her own now, too, at nearly 12 years of age. More playful than ever, will snuggle in on my lap without digging in her claws (this is new) and doesn’t slap Wacky Cat Two nearly as much.