Odessa has lately been playing Tease the Twolegs, the object being to
make us chase her about and earn the right to pet her. She'll let us
give her the briefest stoke, the tiniest head-scratch, and she'll pop
off a few feet away and look back, daring us to follow. It'll turn into
a multi-floor chase, and if Odessa is feeling generous she might let us
sit and pet her or pick her up. I consider it a milestone, because a few
weeks ago she would hardly let us near; also, terrific aerobic exercise
for her deskbound twolegged servants.

But not when Unka Stormin comes over, oh no. Let Sto'Mo' come over and
she lies still on the bed and lets him come over there and have his way
with her, the little tart! She was rolling around temptingly and purring
away, and when I lifted up my jaw from around my ankles where it had
fallen I told him it was a miracle. He says it is his LDS priesthood
coming into the room and calming her down, and who am I to argue? Since
we have one cat who is a Tibetan Buddhist, who is to say Odessa isn't a
little Mormon in a black fur coat?

As for Stosh and Brandy, we figure that they're the most Sikh of the
kitties. They come for prayers and kirtan (hymns) and Louie says their
wrasslin matches resemble a kind of Sikh martial art practiced in the
Punjab; Gatra, I think it's called. If our marriage is a League of
Nations, our home is then a Council of Churches, methinks!

Blessed be,
Baha