My last cat -- a gray, tiger-striped kitten from a shelter in Spanish
Harlem -- was named Katie Nightmare. She earned that name thanks to her
passion for scratching, biting and nocturnal ambushes. If she'd been a
dog, I would have hauled her off to obedience training or at least
sought expert advice in the pages of a training manual. Instead, I just
considered her occasionally hair-raising behavior part of the cat
package.
By Lisa Wogan | June 9, 2008
Pet Dish
I don't know the difference between a tight end and a halfback, and I don't really care. At least, I usually don't. But Superbowl weekend has a way of making me feel like I'm missing out on something. I'm glum because there's no reason (read: excuse) for ordering and consuming a 12-foot-long, 6-meat hoagie and a party bag of Cheetos. Or is there?
By Lisa Wogan | February 2, 2008
