P.S. I almost adventured into another cat. Repeat: I not want a cat. My somewhat-significant other is even allergic to them, I've found. This feline escapade got far enough that I had concurred with my neighbor on an fine name for this dark grey suck-up of a cat. We settled on Church, after a cat in that horrid Stephen King novel and, thus, Sir Winston Churchill. The damned cat would probably have followed me all the way to the pool if I hadn't stopped him. But I am fully convinced that he must have a home. Even if he does need a brushing and a collar.