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STOP PRESS: UPDATE ON LINUS AND SEMANA

It’s so difficult to keep good staff these days. I took two new cats into my office during the summer. Linus and Semana. They were both young and intelligent and quite good on research. "With new staff like this," I said to my investigative assistant, Tammy the Greyhound, "we could really go places with my column. Maybe we could syndicate it nationally. Mrs. Pulitzer would be very impressed."

"They’re adoptable," sighed Tammy.

"Don’t be so pessimistic," I said. "I just saw them hiss at each other. That’s a behavior problem, isn’t it? Maybe no one will want them."

"They’ll be out of here by Christmas," sighed Tammy again.

Linus and Semana (upper workstations in my office) hiss and preen while Tango (lower right workstation) and I try to get our work done for this magazine.

Tammy is always right about these things. Three weeks before Christmas, Linus and Semana started preening themselves one day. Word had gotten out from next door in the Adoption Room that the PTB were selecting adoptable cats to send to San Francisco in exchange for a group of feral cats who’d been evicted from a construction site under the Golden Gate Bridge.

"More feral cats?" I muttered to Tammy. "There goes the neighborhood."

"Just watch," replied Tammy. "It’ll soon be ‘There go Linus and Semana.’"

"I just don’t understand it," I said. "What’s the big deal about going to a new home when they could work here in my office and become famous like you and me?"

"The big deal is that they’ll be greeted like celebrities anyway when they get there," said Tammy. "And they’ll never have to do a stroke of work for it."

Tammy was right again, of course. The cars from San Francisco rolled in this afternoon, and Linus and Semana sat preening and hissing the entire day, completely distracted by visions of fame and fortune across the Golden Gate Bridge, and totally unable to focus on their work any longer.

Meanwhile, I paid a visit to the new cats in the TLC Observation Room for new arrivals. I’m thinking maybe I could interview the ferals for a Streets of San Francisco-type story.

Forget it. They’re sitting right at the back of their cubbies, wide-eyed and motionless, like feral cats always do, refusing to give anyone any information except for name, rank, and serial number.

Two other cats, not feral but also from the big city, are sitting together at the front of their cubby, smiling and purring politely as if wearing a big "Adopt Me" sign.

"What’s the catch?" I asked Tammy.

"Batcat and Rhoda." said Tammy. "They’re like steel ear-hold traps. Pick either one up and they give you a kiss you’ll never forget. Could be a good subject if you want to stop doing serious columns and start writing horror stories.

"Or there’s Peanut over there. Has what are politely called ‘irregularity issues.’ Fancies himself a writer. Just gave me an outline for an X-rated autobiographical movie called Return of The Blob about all the people he’s ever . . . on."

Back in my office, Linus and Semana are packing for their trip – still preening and hissing.

Who needs this? Maybe I should just put myself up for adoption.