At 41, I’ve decided it’s finally time to start listening to my mother. At least on some things. Like Little Joe. Her cat. Little Joe threw his knee out. How he did this, no one knows. In fact, no one even knew cats had knees until this. My mother worried the vet would think she did something to him. Because how else can you explain a cat whose knee started popping out of socket. But take one look at Little Joe and you realize if any cat can do it, he can. He’s pure mischief. His coat is midnight black — like a bandit. You picture him with jewel thieves in exotic cities pulling off million-dollar heists. As they bask in their riches, they would always toast, “Here’s to Little Joe!” He has yellow eyes. He slinks about low to the ground. Like a panther. Or a snake! I think he knows how to do card tricks. I think he’s the one responsible for pickpocketing downtown. For global warming. For that wily computer virus that steals credit card info. Oh, and my mother reports he’s not using the litter pan anymore. He’s peeing on her favorite chair! That Little Joe. Who knows how he got injured. He climbs up on roofs and leaps off like he’s base-jumping. Without a parachute! He’s lucky to have knees at all. So he’s been housebound. Under strict doctor’s orders. Keep that miscreant inside. Make him rest. See if his knee heals up on its … Continue reading Never trust Little Joe