You’d think a household with three dogs, two different schools of fish, assorted reptiles living in the front yard, and two grumpy old people would be a full household. But you’d be wrong.

The dogs by themselves seem like a dozen at times. Newt the hound is home schooled; very smart but absolutely oblivious to the rules of polite society. Joni is a Sheltie, which means she was born neither sane nor smart. She attended obedience school but rode one of the short buses.

And then there is Quigley. Awarded to us by stray animal gods who must have a sense of humor, Quigley could make the Dog Whisperer retire. He hates to have his nails clipped, freaks out when his ears are touched, and has to back out of the kitchen because he thinks the tile floor is ice. The three of them think they are a pack of wolves.

Lizards, possums, birds, and wasps have all fallen victim to the dogs’ ancient instincts. The only animals that consistently defeat this canine A–Team are the squirrels. We have thousands on our property, and every one of them loves to roam the property and eat bird feed meant for our feathered friends. They don’t care much for sharing.

What they do care about is tormenting my dogs, especially poor Quigley. In his heart he really believes he can one day catch a squirrel. He is as delusional as Charlie Brown was about the football.

But Quigley has been preoccupied lately and only half–heartedly chases the squirrels. Several weeks back, one of us decided to help her sister socialize the offspring of a feral neighborhood cat with loose morals who deposited an entire litter in the garage. I knew our household population would increase when cuteness came up.

All baby mammals are cute. The problem is they grow up. The good thing about pets is you can give one away when it is no longer cute and starts to get on your nerves. If you try that with one of the kids, and I’ve thought about it, you get people upset.

Like Nostradamus, I predicted we’d eventually have one of the kittens, and now we do. I insisted we name the little precious Sushi; I felt she should carry a name that coincides with what the dogs thought of her.

She is a white ball of fur and meanness, combative and inquisitive, afraid of nothing. And that includes the dogs. She likes to slap wagging tails and bite the heads of sleeping humans.

Things are slowly settling into a routine. The dogs still get their primary nourishment from Purina and the cat is adjusting admirably. Joni and Newt have accepted her as a roommate if not a member of the family.

Quigley has finally stopped salivating wildly, whimpering, and quivering non–stop while she is around. I’m not sure if he is accepting her as a companion or has a cunning plan to make her an hors d’oeuvre. But I don’t think he’s smart enough to develop any kind of cunning plan. So maybe this will work out.

After all, she is cute.