There's a stray cat coming around occasionally at night. Last night it hopped right up on the window at the foot of our bed and yowled through the screen at us. It was either asking to come in, or making fun of my choice of sleepwear. Hard to tell, I don't speak fluent kitty.

    My big brave tough guy cat Zoe immediately hopped up on our side of the screen and began trading insults with the interloper. It's kind of easy to be a guard kitty when you have a screen between you and the enemy and two ginormous humans right behind you should trouble bust out.

    Zoe was so involved with trading insults that she didn't hear Paul come up behind her. When the spousal unit turned on the flashlight to get a gander at the stray kitty, Zoe leapt about two feet straight into the air and in her terror lost control of her bladder.

    Zoe has a mighty big bladder for such a small cat, eh. I'm guessing about 80 per cent of her body is bladder.

    Our bedspread took the brunt of it, so we tossed it off the bed on to the floor. It was after 3 a.m. and neither of us had the energy to pitch it in the washer at that insane hour. We'd deal with it in the morning.

    Morning came, and we awakened to see Zoe, the picture of innocence, circling the bedspread, sniffing it intently and then looking up at us as if to say, "Hey, did you know that someone peed on your bedspread? Did ya? Huh?"

    Go have cats.