There was an item on last night's local news: should the residents of this lovely state be allowed to hunt feral cats? Let me say that again: the issue is the right to shoot cats. The right to find cats you don't know, get out your gun, load it up and kill the cat.

It's time for me to out myself. I'm not a "cat person." You will never see pictures of Fluffy or Boots or Supreme Master of the House on this blog. I look at pictures of other people's cats, and hopefully make the appropriate noises of appreciation, but on the inside I'm feeling rather like happily child-free folks do when I start talking about my kids. But shoot them? Nah...

I knew a man once, a fully grown, responsible man with two Master's degrees and a job, who sent postcards to his cat whenever he was out of town for more than two days. I found that remarkably sad, but I never thought it was the cat's fault.