He was such a little teacup cat when I brought him home, little pocket cat I could hold in one hand, fast as lightning and smart as a whip. Today, he celebrates his second birthday, and he's matured into a 17-plus pound moose! There's no question as to who rules the roost here, either. He has me trained well to respond to his whims, whether it's providing treats or playtime, or determining when it's time to go to bed or to get up. And he makes me laugh a hundred times a day. Yesterday, I saw him run across the living room but didn't see where he went. I came in from the kitchen asking, "Where's that silly little cat? Where did Merry go?" He wasn't in the window, wasn't on any of his customary perches, wasn't behind the loom, so I figured he was hiding in the overturned box, intending to grab my ankle as I went by. I got down on the floor, stuck the tip of a finger underneath one corner, trying to tempt him to attack it. Nothing. I wiggled the finger. Still nothing. I tried several more times before giving it up, and as I started to stand up, the pile of brown packing paper erupted (it's one of his favourite toys, and fills a large part of the living room)! He had hidden himself inside it, to lay in wait for the unsuspecting Mama. I shrieked and fell over backwards (on purpose), "You got me! You got me good!" which was the precise reaction he'd been anticipating. So, for the joy my Merry brings, please join me in wishing him a happy birthday.