"He wants something," she said, referring to my cat, Shasta, the only other 'he' in the room. (Yeah I pick up on these things quickly).

Shasta was sitting on the livingroom carpet directly in front of me as she and I sat at the diningroom table.

"Yes," I said. "He wants..." Shasta looked up at me with expectant awe; I could not disappoint him. "He wants, he wants..." I stood and spread my arms to him, my voice reaching a crescendo. "He wants TO LIVE! LIVE, SHASTA! LIVE!" My eyes turned heavenward, pleading, "Give my cat LIFE!"

A pause.

Shasta laid down, stretched and rolled over, offering me his tummy to rub. I did so and sat back down at the table.

She looked at me. "I worry about you sometimes," she said dryly.