There's a cat, but no kids at our house. I work in a children's hospital, though, so am reminded daily of the spectrum of possibilities. It is very instructive and humbling to see these people who exist effortlessly in the present. When does that ability evaporate? When is it that we become focussed on the future? Is it when adults start asking us " What are you going to be when you grow up?"

I teach a night course to 9-12 year olds. "Anybody here have a job?", I ask. A 12 year old girl puts up her hand. "My job is being a kid." Brilliant.

Our cat is called CSIS, (See-sis, after the Canadian government spy outfit}. Aside from the normal cat activities (inactivity) she enjoys jumping onto the dining room table (forbidden) and breakdancing to whatever is playing on the stereo. No kidding. She lies on her back and squirms like a salted slug. She's partial to fiddle music. Perhaps some atavistic connection to her ancestors and kinfolk who sacrificed their abdomens to music.

Here is the first poem I remember writing, about a cat we had when I was a kid. She was orange/gold and was a consistent part of my childhood, from kindergarten til I left home for college. This poem from grade one or two:

We have a cat called Nugget.
My mom won't let you bug it.

Cheers, Bardford