I would like to introduce to you, Cleo and Caesar.

Cleo was our calico Carbo-Kitty. She would eat spaghetti if you left a bowl of it unattended, and not for the meat! Red sauce or marinara was fine with her. If you were holding a cookie and looked away at something, she’d help herself to a bite. She ate lemon bars, fer cripe’s sake! Jill once had to chase her out of a bowl of marble-cake batter. Cleo never saw a carb she did not like.

Caesar was our dog in a cat suit. He considered himself Jill’s, and Jill his. He followed her around the house, like a puppy. When I arrived in their lives, Caesar was the one who could never quite accommodate himself to my presence, especially in his person’s bed! He’d wrap himself around Jill’s head – I guess to keep me from stealing her warmth?

One thing over which we bonded, though, was sports. Cleo and Caesar would both watch sporting events with me – but not the same ones. Cleo’s jam was golf. If golf was on and I was watching it, Cleo would soon settle herself down on the couch next to me and watch it too. I think she had heard about a Tiger who was tearing it up in those years, and she was pleased that a great cat would be doing so well in such a human pursuit. Not to mention, the birdies. She wanted to see if she might get one of those, to play with.

Caesar, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed a football game. I used to watch the NFL and Caesar watched it with me faithfully until the end of his too-short life. It was just about the only thing he’d do with me, but we did have that.

Cleo and Caesar are both long gone now but not remotely forgotten.