I was in the den this evening to kiss my wife and tell her how much I appreciate how much she cares for me (no gropes). She hasn't thrown me out after more than 46 years together and for her sacrifices I am grateful.

On my way down the hallway to get to the stairs to the man cave, a beer and a hockey game on TV the tom Trouble dropped like he was dead - flat out on his right side, head on the floor, not moving, four legs straight out. I knew what that meant. It was the dreaded "flop drop".

I had to lean over to rub up the cat - belly, back, shoulders, chest, ears and head. So far so good but Stage #2 of the "flop drop" was coming and I knew it.

Stage #2 of the "flop drop" is the "stair game". When I try to get up the stairs the huge tomcat races in front of me and flops onto the stair I want to step. He plays me well. When I rub him up and pet him he races up a step or two, does a 180 and now I get up a step before I have to rub him up again. This goes on all the way up the stairs. Sometimes when I get to the top of the stairs I have to go back down to pee again.

Lordy, I love that huge tom. He's a joy to play with and a joy to have laid out on my breakfast table in the kitchen while he catches some morning sun through a window. He's a great bunky too. He just drops at the foot of my bed when he shows up and sleeps. No "rump thumps" like his mother does.