Oh, beautiful little cats, happy third birthday. We could not feed you hamantashn in coincidence of Purim, but we passed on to you the fancy smoked salmon which was a present from my mother to her grandkittens and you made it disappear like a card trick, snip snap snup. This morning I found one of you regally atop the air cleaner and the other burrowed into the blankets at my feet and you raced into the kitchen as soon as you saw I was awake. You watch movies with me, from my bookshelves or my lap, purring steadily. You bat at my laptop screen because that cursor is taunting you. You are trouble cats and danger kittens and we love you dearly. You make this world better just by sleeping in it.