Photo by Bryan Christopher

When we picked up baby Norrin from a nearby farm, we asked for a male cat (having heard that two females will fight). The farm owner took a cursory look at Norrin's rear end and pronounced him a male, and for the six months since then, we've been calling Norrin "him."

We started to get suspicious around the time that Miley went into heat. Norrin copied all of her wailing and writhing -- albeit less enthusiastically. And when we brought them to get fixed last month, the verdict was clear: two girls.

Now that we've been calling Norrin by male pronouns for several months, it's hard to think of him as female. So we've continued to say "him." I asked Norrin and he doesn't mind.

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Today, we are friends and we will share the windowsill.

Tomorrow, we will not.

We will get back to you about Saturday.

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Norrin loves him some sunbeam.

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Mom: Trevor, where are you?
Trevor: I'm in the living room.
Mom: Are you working on your math?
Trevor: No. I'm working on my relationship with Norrin.

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It's so annoying when the cat gets home from work, she barely gets in the door before asking for dinner. And I'm like, "Dinner will be ready in an hour." And she's all like, "Well I'm hungry now." And then I'm like, "You know I was busy all day here. You know that keeping this house running is a full-time job, right?" And she's like, "I was in the office all day listening to Bob dance around the fact that we're not going to make our first-quarter numbers. How am I supposed to make partner if I don't make my numbers?" And I'm like, "We never see you any more. Is your job more important than us?" And she's like, "You're always nagging me about nothing!" And I'm like, "You never take the garbage out unless I ask you!"

Sometimes I wonder if genetically engineering cats to go to work for us was such a good idea.

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We like warm laundry.

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Cats can't speak for themselves, so sometimes you have to give them a little help.

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