Here kitty, kitty...

Reason to pout: Paul won't let me have a cat.

The intellectual part of my brain says, "Hey Kate, you're insanely allergic to cats, and it's so nice of your uber-smart husband to look out for your health like that!"

Meanwhile, the emotional part of my brain throws a temper tantrum that would put a four-year-old to shame: "If you don't buy me a cat, I'll hold my breath until I die!" (See Shel Silverstein's "Little Abigail and the Beautiful Pony" for more information.)

But it seems that my problems are solved now, as Paul and I have come to an agreement: We will feed the fuzzy black-and-white stray cat that wanders through our back yard almost every morning.

To cement the deal, I've named the stray "Fred," and from this day forward, I declare that Fred is a part of the family, even if he's not allowed to come in the house ... Yet. I'm fairly certain that as Paul and Fred become better friends, Paul won't be so opposed to letting Fred stay over once in a while.

Last night, I asked Paul to pick up some Fred-type food. He came home with a small bag of premium Science Diet.

"You went all out, didn't you?" I asked him, eyeing the tiny $10 bag.

"Well, my choices were Science Diet, Purina and Eukanuba ... and this has SCIENCE in the name!"

Lordy. I'm not sure Fred knows what he's getting himself into.