I think of our cats as tiny humans, and I constantly have to remind myself they're not

Ever since Cheddar the cat entered our lives a year ago, this scene has played out hundreds of times.

Cheddar (the orange cat above, lower right) will be sitting in the living room minding his own business, when suddenly calico Ginny, one of our two girl cats, will come charging at him. The two will tussle for a few seconds, hisses will be exchanged, then order will be restored.

When this happens, I give Ginny a stern talking-to. "Why would you do that?" I demand of her. "Stop being a bully. Leave Cheddar alone! You're mean."

Then I pause for a second and realize a few things:

• Ginny does not generally understand English, outside of the word "treats" and her own name.
  
  
• Ginny is acting on instinct. She is not "mean" by nature.
  
  
• These lectures of mine never seem to have an effect, and she is likely to repeat this behavior an hour later.

NOTE: Cheddar is not entirely innocent in all of this. Maybe it's because he's fed up with being attacked, but increasingly, he is the aggressor when he and Ginny or he and Molly square off.

Other than the occasional nose scratch, no one ever gets hurt in these confrontations. But I always feel like Cheddar, a cat who was plucked from the mean streets of Wickliffe by our daughter Melanie, deserves some peace and quiet.

Then again, he's an animal. Does he even know what "peace and quiet" is? Isn't he built to handle this kind of thing?

Regardless of how much we love them, the fact is that our cats, as domesticated as they are, are cats. They have instincts that make them act in ways that, while unpleasant to us, are perfectly natural to them.

Overall, they seem pretty happy with their lives.

This tendency of mine to treat them like people also extends to their facial expressions. Or at least what I interpret as their facial expressions, because again, I read their faces the way I would read people's faces.

Which is also a mistake. Cheddar, for instance, has what Terry calls "Resting Sad Face." He always looks like a forlorn little human child, but he looks that way even when he's sitting on my lap purring and is clearly very content.

So while I still don't like it when the cats fight, as I said, no permanent damage is done and they all seem fairly happy with their lot in life.

Of course, I would know for sure if they stopped being so stubborn and learned to speak English.

Which is the best (and the worst) day of the week?

Supposedly, early "Garfield" cartoons like this one from the mid-1970s were not copyright protected, meaning I can post it here without threat of punishment. Or maybe that's made up. We'll see.

Every once in a while, my son Jared will text our family group chat with a set of "power rankings" in which he rates a group of items from his favorite to his least favorite.

Like, for example, he has previously sent (always randomly, always out of the blue) power rankings of the cats in our family and various breakfast cereals.

These lists are always cause for much discussion and debate within the group chat.

Recently, Jared sent his rankings of the days of the week, from the best (in his opinion Saturday) to the worst (in his mind Tuesday).

It immediately reminded me of a similar list I posted here on the blog way back on July 5, 2013. I figured I would revisit that list and make changes based on 12 additional years of life experience. Surely I don't look at the days of the week the same now as I did when I was 43, do I?

It turns out I do. Following are my days of the week power rankings, which ring as true for me now as they did back in 2013. (Oh, and for comparison's sake, Jared's list from best to worst went Saturday, Friday, Thursday, Wednesday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.)

#7 - Tuesday

Tuesday is the worst day, hands down. Maybe because it lacks an identity. It's not only the middle of the work week, it's early in the middle of the work week. Few good things happen on Tuesdays, as far as I'm concerned.

#6 - Thursday

"I could never get the hang of Thursdays," says Arthur Dent in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. And I agree. Some people choose to go out and party on Thursday nights. I don't even go out and party on Saturday nights, so that's definitely not for me. Thursday lures you in with, "Hey, the weekend is right around the corner!" But it's not, because Thursday ends and you still haven't arrived at the weekend. You can't fool me, Thursday, you temptress.

#5 - Monday

This is higher than most people would slot Monday on any day-of-the-week ranking list. But Mondays do have some redeeming value. They always hold out the promise of a solid, enjoyable week ahead, and I always start them well. Sometimes they really are the vanguard of a happy five days. But sometimes they aren't. So you never know what you're going to get with Monday, which is why I can't trust it with a ranking any higher than #5.

#4 - Sunday

It is with a guilty conscience that I rank Sunday in the middle, because Sunday is when we go to church and that's supposed to be the highlight of my week. Sunday morning definitely ranks right up there for me, but Sunday afternoon and Sunday evening? All I do is think about my responsibilities and appointments for the week to come, which really defeats the purpose of a weekend. Sunday is lucky I put it as high as #4 on this list.

#3 - Wednesday

That Geico commercial about a camel on Hump Day makes me laugh. And that's all I really need to say about Wednesdays.

#2 - Saturday

I realize Saturday is the calendar equivalent of Nirvana for most people, and I like it, too. But you know what happens to me around 6 p.m. every Saturday? I start thinking, "Oh man, the weekend is already mostly over and I haven't accomplished anything. And tomorrow is Sunday, which means I have to spend it getting ready for Monday." *SIGH*." It's a sad, lonely existence I lead, really.

#1 - Friday

I would never force you to listen to that "Friday" song by Rebecca Black, but I do offer the option of a link, should you choose to subject yourself to it. Fridays are life-defining for me. I am, for whatever reason, hugely productive at work on Fridays. I enjoy almost every Friday night one way or another. And my standards have fallen so far that I actually thrive on the experience of wearing jeans to work on "Casual Fridays." There is virtually no downside to Fridays, which is why I crown it The Champ among days of the week. For what that's worth.

Finding the line between "live your life" and "do what's best for your health"

From the outset, I should establish that I don't believe a fun life and a healthy life are mutually exclusive things. You can (and should) have both.

But there's no denying that, at least for me, a healthy life sometimes means making certain sacrifices and prioritizing my time in ways I might not otherwise.

As an example, let's take the gym-going habit I developed nearly a year ago.

When I started lifting last June, you could find me in the gym five days a week without fail. And it undoubtedly made a difference, to the point that my chest, arms and shoulders are now somewhat bigger, which means some of my button-downs and pullovers are harder to get on than they used to be.

It's a good problem (and a very healthy habit) to have.

But there are downsides to a five-day-a-week gym routine, again, at least for me. They include:

• Sometimes getting less sleep than I really need because I have stuff going on the night before I work out
• Perpetual soreness
• A higher risk of injury and less chance to recover

To that last point, in the past year I have sustained injuries at the gym to my shoulder, back, forearm and foot. All were lifting-related, and while all probably could have been avoided with better form, the fact is they happened and they didn't heal quickly.

That was probably because I kept on going to the gym five days a week and never gave those muscles a chance to heal themselves.

Then I cut back to four days a week of lifting, and now sometimes I'm at three. And voila, as I type this, I'm suddenly injury-free!

Who knew?

When it comes to diet, we all have to decide what we're willing to do to maintain a reasonable weight without being in constant self-denial. Few people can get by without indulging in less-than-healthy treats from time to time.

You have to decide what "from time to time" means for you, though, and what potential long-term health consequences you're willing to accept in exchange for the happiness that extra piece of cake or the double cheeseburger bring you.

As I mentioned recently, you and I each have an expiration date, and we can only push it out so far. As Colin Hay, one of my favorite singer-songwriters, puts it: "Nobody gets a sequel, no, everyone gets shown the door."

I think a lot nowadays about these tradeoffs. Maybe it's because I have a grandchild on the way. Or maybe I'm at an age when everyone starts to look ahead to whatever is left of this life, which for me should be at least a few more decades, though you never know.

Pick a philosophy and stick to it. Find your balance. Then go and live your life the best you know how, even if the final number of years you live isn't as long as it could be.

That's the best advice I can give you.

I'm living in the lap of luxury...or laziness, it's hard to tell

We don't have a hammock, but the point is, if I wanted to sleep while Nick our lawn guy cuts the grass, I could.

When Terry and I bought our first home in 1992, I was by default in charge of lawn maintenance, snow removal and leaf clean-up. These traditionally masculine roles fit me well, and I took some pride in keeping a relatively well-maintained lawn and a clear winter driveway.

Fast forward to 2025, and my how things have changed.

I now have a guy (Nick) who mulches my flower beds in the early spring, cuts my grass all summer, and removes my leaves in the fall.

I have another guy (Jeff) who plows my driveway in the winter, leaving only some light shoveling to do around the entryways to our home.

It's not that I can't physically do these things anymore. I can. It's a combination of not wanting to do them and having the discretionary income to pay someone else to do them.

It helps a lot that Nick is very good at what he does, and that Jeff is thorough and reliable whenever winter storms smack us in the face. If they did their jobs poorly, I might rethink my decision to outsource all of this work.

As it is, though, I'm fortunate to have access to skilled, responsible help that makes my life a lot easier.

Not that I really need life to be that much easier. mind you. I'm ridiculously blessed, and I'm of a socioeconomic demographic that benefits inordinately from the system.

You don't have to be wealthy to have it as good as I do. Just lucky.

Still, I'm waiting for the day when my manly pride gets the better of me and I tell Nick, "You know what? I don't need you anymore. I'm going to go back to cutting the grass and raking up the leaves myself. Thanks for your service."

When that happens, I give it one, maybe two lawn mowings before I'm on the phone asking whether he can work me back into his schedule.

I hope I continue to realize how good I have it.

I give more thought to scheduling my vacation days than NASA gives to manned space missions

When you add up my vacation, personal days and floating holidays, I have something like 19 days of leisure to play with in 2025.

That's probably fairly typical of a white-collar professional of my age. Some people (particularly those with many years of tenure at their companies) have much more, others have much less. But that's what I have.

While I find it to be pretty generous, I realize I'm looking at this through very American eyes. Those in other countries tend to have more off time – often considerably more – than we do. I'm so conditioned to our system here that if you gave me the Scandinavian treatment and granted me six weeks off a year, I wouldn't know what to do with myself.

In any case, those 19 days are what I have, and I give careful thought as to how I use them.

And to be clear, I do use them. All of them. As I've written before, I don't understand those who leave paid holidays on the table.

• Right off the bat I know I'll burn a week's worth in late July for our church's annual Bible school/retreat at Slippery Rock University. It's a highlight of the year for us and a non-negotiable expenditure of off time (even the recovery day I'll take after we get back).

• As I mentioned last week, we just recently scheduled a trip to Brazil. It's a Wednesday-to-Wednesday thing, but one of those days is a holiday, which means I only have to use five off days. Good deal.

• I also burn a day every spring on high school track PA announcing gigs. I'm announcing five meets this spring over six days in April and May. Some of those are weekdays, with meet start times all in the range of 4pm. That means I have to leave the office around 3pm to make it to the track and get myself prepared before the announcements and event calls begin. Total those early departures across the spring and it means I need to burn a personal day to ensure the company and I are square. Again, that's fine.

I already used one vacation day this year when Terry and I went to Florida in early February to visit Jared and Lyndsey. Add up that day, plus the track announcing day, plus five days for Brazil, plus the six days I take for Slippery Rock, and we're down to just six days to use throughout the rest of the year.

Here's where you have to have a strategy. Do I hold onto them just in case something happens? Like, when Chloe's baby is born, will it be during the week, and will I want to burn a day or two to spend with her and my grandchild at the hospital? Maybe.

Do I want to take off 5-6 days in late December so I don't have to work at all over Christmas and New Year's? Possibly.

Or, rather than using most of it at one time, do I instead enjoy a series of three- or four-day weekends in the summer and fall, as I wrote last August?

These are all legitimate questions, and while I've certainly given them due consideration, I've not yet reached any decisions.

I've said this before, but I think the planning and anticipation of vacations is as much (or more) fun than the vacations themselves. I can't wait to see how this all goes.

I do our taxes, but I'm pretty sure I don't do them right

(NOTE: This post originally appeared on the blog 10 years ago tomorrow on April 15, 2015. For the record, I have yet to be audited or imprisoned for tax fraud.)

I know a lot of people who hire an accountant or H&R Block or a friend to do their taxes.

Not me. Ever since we've been married, I've handled preparing and filing our federal, state and local income taxes.

I have no formal training in finance, tax law, or generally accepted accounting principles, yet year after year I take on the responsibility of filling out these forms on behalf of myself and my wife, knowing that I'm risking an audit or, frankly, arrest.

Because I'm pretty sure I never get it quite right. Which is saying something since I use the popular TurboTax software to do my taxes, and the creators of that program try their best to make the whole thing as easy as possible.

95% of it really is easy. It's just a matter of filling in numbers and answering relatively simple questions.

But there are always a few things on my taxes about which I'm not quite sure. Like, for example, when and how to claim my daughter Elissa's college expenses. Or how much to claim. Or even why I'm claiming them in the first place.

A good, conscientious person would take time to do research not only to get the numbers right, but to ensure he or she fully understands the applicable tax code.

Then there's me. Once I start doing taxes, my only goal is to finish doing taxes, and to finish them as quickly as possible.

So if I'm the least bit stumped, I kind of guess a little. To my credit, I try to guess in a direction that favors the government rather than me. But I do guess somewhat.

In the end we always end up getting a sizable refund, not because I'm a tax genius or anything, but mainly because we have five children. And the tax code is set up such that you are encouraged to be prodigious in your childbearing. Got 10 kids? Cool, we're give you a deduction for each and every one of them.

It's always with some degree of trepidation that I click the "File" button in TurboTax to send my information to the IRS. I second- and third-guess myself, but I rarely change anything I've already entered. At some point when it comes to taxes, you figure prison is probably preferable to combing through that stack of receipts one more time to make sure you got everything right.

This past year my employer stopped withholding local tax from my paycheck. When that happens you're supposed to make proactive, quarterly estimated payments to your local tax authority, which we sort of tried to do with the City of Wickliffe but failed.

And then, when I did file our city taxes, I forgot to mail a W-2 form. So the city sent me a letter, the gist of which was, "Hey genius, thanks for your tax forms. Wanna send us a copy of the ol' W-2 this time?"

At least they didn't audit or arrest me. Which is more than I can probably say for the IRS once they stumble on this post.

You get used to your parents being gone, even if you don't want to

Today would have been my mom's 93rd birthday. She passed away five years ago this summer, right in the middle of the pandemic.

What made the whole thing tougher is that we didn't get the chance to see her in person from mid-March, when she went into assisted living after a stay in the hospital, until the day before she died in early July. Covid restrictions and everything, you know.

We got to see her on FaceTime during those chaotic months, but that's obviously not the same thing.

Terry and I were scheduled to see her on July 2nd for a "window visit," where the assisted living folks would bring her to a window (maybe a window screen so we could talk? I can't remember) and we could actually see her face to face.

But a catastrophic fall earlier that week changed those plans in a hurry. Yes, we did get to see her in person on July 2, but it was instead at hospice when she was unconscious and nearing the end of her time on this earth.

She passed away the next day, but not before we had the chance to say our goodbyes. I've always been grateful for that.

Anyway, with my dad having died several years earlier, I've been without my parents for a while now. Terry's mom passed away less than three weeks before mine, and she lost her dad a year and a half ago, so she's in the same boat.

You still have those moments when you want to call them and share some big news or just talk about something that happened to you, and then you remember they're not around anymore. It's a sad, jarring realization.

It happens less frequently now, but it still happens. I've become accustomed to being an "orphan" (as my daughter jokingly put it), though I'm not sure that makes any of it easier.

Have you seen that meme going around on social media that shows a phone screen with an incoming call from "Mom" and "Dad?" It says something like, "If you still receive these calls, be grateful."

I agree. You don't know what you have until it's gone.