knife and fork

My friend Kathryn found a sweet cat next to the Silverlake dog park. She cuddled him and cooed to him and handed him to me. He pooped all over my T-shirt. There was no going back.

My child rearing philosophy is born of my cat rearing philosophy - just let them roam, safely, with a collar, and they'll be fine. (Note to Mom - this doesn't mean in two years I'm going to send my kids to live with you. I know you have two of my cats and the dog, but I've learned my lesson and I'm hanging on to the tiny humans.) So Irving the cat roamed the streets of Venice and was invited into more living rooms than a Mormon missionary. He lost his tail somewhere along the way. Irving is, as they say, a badass.

When I moved in with my soon-to-be-wife, it was a big deal. Here I was, moving in and she had two cats already, the girls, who had zero interest in some young, upstart, westside tabby without a tail, much less me. I clung to Irving as my furry soul mate. I hoped we would bond over our shared single-life history but he hissed at me, took off one day and came back with my replacement. He needed a youngster, a sidekick - and he found him in a local feral cat we came to call Julius. Julius looked like an extra from Oliver - perfectly smudged "homeless" make-up, at least two too many toes on each foot, a ruffian in every aspect. Julius showed up one day and never left. He ate our food, used the kitty litter, slept at the foot of our bed. We touched him once, and only once, and have the scars to prove it.

Julius came home one day with a nasty cut on his back foot and we knew we had to catch him and we knew it would result in casualties. After a day or so of failed attempts to lure him into the carrier, we opted for a large beach towel and some kitchen mitts. He bit us both, Lara got it in the fold between her left thumb and forefinger, my right thumb nail will never be the same. Within hours our hands were unrecognizable. The next day my wife and I emerged from our respective health-clinic cubicles with matching antibiotic butt shots and arm slings. The only way to cut our chicken dinner that night involved my left-hand wielded fork and her right-hand wielded knife.

When forced, everyone learns to adapt.

Julius and Irving stayed in Los Angeles, because we couldn't imagine moving them both and we couldn't imagine breaking them up. They are a perfect pair. A neighbor adopted them. As you can see from the above photo, they are doing fine.