In science you have many, many accepted standards to measure different sources of energy. You have the watt, the British Thermal Unit, and even the horsepower. They all pale in comparison to a new energy source I have discovered: The Enid.

While I won't be able to make any hard assertions until the experts from Geneva come to do exact measurements, I would estimate that pound for pound, The Enid is pretty close to the energy output of the sun.

My eyes snapped open at about 7 a.m. this morning to the sound of what I assumed was a small herd of ponies running up and down the length of my kitchen below me. Ponies that were not only running along the floor, but partially scaling the log walls of our downstairs as said ponies made flash turns.

Whoever the poet was who likened the drift of fog coming in to the quiet of little cat feet never lived with the like of Enid and Norma.

I came downstairs and watched the two chase each other with much glee. When Norma finally collapsed from exhaustion, Enid continued running for the sheer joy of running. This sheer joy of running included scaling my bookcase and sending cookbooks helter skelter. That pile of notes and valuable phone numbers by the phone? Scattered confetti-like on the floor below it.

A spider plant lay on the floor under another window, it's pot broken, dirt and water pooled around it.

Oh man.

I am used to living sedately with middle-aged and elderly cats. Now it appears that I have two juvenile delinquents under my roof, one of whom I probably should have named Seabiscuit. What happened to the two calm, cute cats who sprawled serenely at the shelter? Huh? HUH?

The spousal unit thinks the problem might be that we've been giving them canned food in the morning which is a higher octane diet than the dry kibble they probably got at the shelter. He thinks that as they grow used to it, they will settle down. I can only live in hope.

Both cats are now so desperate to go outside that they are practically pounding on the door with their little paws. Norma, who spent the first year or so of her life in the wild, spends a large part of the day with her nose glued to the glass of the kitchen window that overlooks the bird squirrel feeders.

She mews at me piteously, telling me that she's no housecat and no matter what they told me at the shelter, she's still Norma from the 'hood. I tell her there's no way she can go out for another week and a half or so, and even then she's going to have to go out with the spousal unit or I until we're very sure that she knows this is her home. My explanation, of course, is just a series of blah blah blah blah blah blahs to the cat.

All I can say is that it's a good thing we don't have the shelter number on the speed dial. I'm pretty sure that by now Norma would have called them and ratted us out for cat abuse.

I got a call from the shelter a short while ago to check in on how the cats are doing. These are people who truly care about the animals they take in. Everyone who takes a pet from them has a two week trial period in case the pet doesn't work out. If things go south, you can choose to return the pet for a refund or try adopting another.

When the call came in I had just finished picking up and reshelving cookbooks, sorting messages and phone numbers, repotting the spider plant, mopping up the mess on the floor from its fall from the window, cleaning the kitty litter and hunting down Zubby to give him some extra affection and re-assurance.

In addition, the cats and I have been having a series of on-going full and frank discussions about surfaces. Being shelter raised, they don't understand yet that tables and kitchen counters are not ever to be used as either footpaths or sleeping areas. Oh, and Enid feels that the two scratching posts we have are far from adequate and that the lovely pine cupboards and moldings we have are far better suited to her needs.

I am getting a lot of attitude about these issues. It is going to take us a while to work it out. Oh, and as an added bonus, the Eau de Dead Mouse still perfumes the air downstairs.

"How are the cats doing?" the shelter volunteer asked. I didn't even have to think about it a moment. "They're wonderful," I told her. "I can't believe how much fun they are. You don't have to worry about us taking them back." She laughed in relief, telling me it wasn't unusual for people who took two cats to bring at least one back.

Want to know the really sad part? It's scary how much I meant those words. All the mess and problems they are adding to our lives are more than counter-balanced by the joy I get watching their antics through the day. Having these lovely, soft, sleek creatures bounce up to me and trill a welcome, bunt me affectionately, is worth every moment of aggravation they cause.

Oh man, I am so very, very whipped.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 376.63 miles (606.1 kilometers)
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers