Last weekend, I was upstairs at the computer putting the finishing touches on one of these little stories.  After a final reread and rewrite, I believed it was ready, but wanted Pat to look it over, too.

   She happened to be across the hall, fixing her hair in the bathroom, so I called her over to read the story.  She recommended some small changes and we discussed them, and when both of us were satisfied with the story, she walked back out of the room.

   Then I heard, "NICKY!  You little..."

   Her next statement was directed at me:  "Do you know what your cat just did?"  (My cat?  The cat who stays either by Pat's side or on her lap, morning, noon and night?)

   "I saw him running out of the bathroom," she continued, "and the first thing I thought of was the catnip on the windowsill."

   Sure enough, El Gatito Perfecto had found it.  When Pat left the door open, Nicky jumped up onto the bathtub, climbed to the windowsill and helped himself to the small pot of catnip Pat was trying to grow there.  And when she came back, the guilty cat leaped down and raced past her down the stairs.

   Or perhaps he floated on by, since there were just three leaves left on the plant.  With that in mind, I opened a blank document in the word processor and began typing again, jotting down the fresh details of a new story about a very happy little black cat who enjoys catnip -- in other words, a Good Cat.