My lovely girlfriend, Jeannie, and I went to visit my parents for dinner last night. My sister, Amy, and my brother-in-law, Daryl, joined us as well. They brought my three-year-old niece, Maddie, and my 11-month-old nephew, Jake, in tow.

After dinner, I was playing with Maddie. She was having fun with a Fisher-Price Sesame Street playset that used to belong to my sister when she was little. At one point, I suggested that Ernie wanted to get something to eat. But Maddie marched the little Ernie figurine through the front door of the little plastic apartment building and told me, “No! He wants to go outside.”

“Why does he want to go outside?” I asked.

She told me, “He’s gonna smoke.”

“Ernie’s going to smoke?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Maddie responded with confidence.

“Ernie doesn’t smoke!” I protested.

“Yes he does!” Maddie retorted, again with confidence.

“No he doesn’t,” I admonished. “You’ve never seen Ernie on Sesame Street smoking a cigarette. Why? Because he doesn’t smoke!”

Maddie simply informed me, “He’s finished smoking.” I don’t think she meant that he quit the habit, but merely that he finished his cigarette.

She then marched Ernie back into the little toy building, and she informed me, “NOW he wants to eat.”

I was afraid she was going to tell me he was about to get a beer from the ‘fridge!

The cover story of the Sept. 25 issue of Time magazine suggests that a war with Iran may be more likely than people realize, and possibly inevitable.

Iran has ambitions to become the major power in the Middle East, and acquiring nuclear weapons would enable them to achieve those ambitions. Such weapons would also allow Iran’s crackpot president to deliver on his promise to wipe Israel off of the map. So, really, Iran doesn’t have a lot of motivation to forego the manufacture of nuclear weapons.

With the U.S. military committed quagmires in both Iraq and Afghanistan, I don’t see how we can mount an effective military campaign against Iran as well. But I also don’t see how we can live with a nuclear Iran. Deterrence and containment may have worked against the Soviet Union, but I think the Soviets were a bit more pragmatic than the nutballs who run Iran.

Talk about a rock and a hard place.

Oh, for crying out loud…! 

Islamic leaders are now angry about remarks made by Pope Benedict XVI. In particular they are upset that he quoted the words of 14th-century Byzantine emperor Manuel II Paleologus: “Show me just what Mohammed brought that was new, and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached.” The Pope claims he was merely trying to point out that violence and faith in God are incompatible and was not asserting that Islam is inherently violent.

In response, some jackasses firebombed two churches on the West Bank and said it was in retaliation for what the Pope said. Yeah, that’ll show us that Islam isn’t inherently violent!

I don’t, by the way, believe Islam is inherently violent. But these outraged Muslim leaders would have a lot more moral authority if they denounced the acts of radical Islamic terrorists with the same vigor they display when reacting to even the tiniest criticism from a non-Islamic.

Ralph “Bucky” Phillips has finally been apprehended. For those of you who are unaware, this “man” (and I use that term very, very loosely in this instance) escaped from the Erie County Correctional Facility in Alden, New York, on April 2, 2006. While on the run, Phillips allegedly shot three New York State Troopers, one of whom died as a result.Phillips had spent 23 of the last 25 years of his life in prison. At the time of his escape, he was cooling his jets in the clink because of a minor parole violation. He was scheduled to be released in a week.

A fire has destroyed the home of comic-book artist named Lea Hernandez. The fire has claimed the lives of at least some of her beloved pets, and she also lost irreplaceable original artwork. Check out this Newsarama article for information about how you can help.

On Thursday, August 31, Jeannie and I had our 15-year-old cat, Albert, put to sleep.

Albert was simply the calmest, sweetest, and most affectionate cat I’ve ever known. He wasn’t particularly mischievous, and aside from clawing our sofa he wasn’t at all destructive. He wasn’t interested in playing. He was, however, always happy to be picked up and cuddled. If I was sitting on the couch or one of the recliners, he would invariably hop up on my lap, curl up and begin purring. If I was lying on the couch, he would climb up onto my chest, roll over onto his side, and rub his head against my chin while I rubbed his belly. He had the loudest purr of any cat I’ve ever met. He sounded like a motor. For that reason, Jeannie used to call him “our little lawnmower.”

There are many, many wonderful stories I could tell about Albert. If there is one story in particular that captures his essence, however, it is this:

A few years ago I was working a second job to make ends meet. It was a horrible job at a lousy company. The management treated employees like dirt. One day I’d had my fill of being treated that way and had a verbal confrontation with this punk-ass 22-year-old kid who happened to be a manager. He didn’t fire me, but he did throw me out for the evening.

I felt humiliated, having allowed myself to be put in a position in life where this kid, more than ten years my junior, could push me around. When I got home I vented my anger by punching a metal closet door, scaring the hell out of Albert and our other cat, Katie. They both ran away. I had frightened these two little friends who were in no way to blame for what had happened to me. Feeling lower than low for doing that to the cats, I went upstairs and into the bedroom, where I sat down on the bed and wondered where my life had gone wrong.

Then I saw Albert poke his head through the doorway. He slowly approached me and hopped up on the bed. Normally, this would have been followed by a demand for food or a bid to get me to pet him, but not this time. Instead, he just looked at me. I looked back into his eyes and understood. He knew something was wrong, and even though I had scared him he wanted to be there for me.

It was then that I knew Albert was more than a pet. He was a friend.

Unfortunately, Albert’s health had been failing for the last eight months. On Wednesday, August 30, his condition took a nosedive. Jeannie and I realized we needed to let go of our little friend. On Thursday, August 31, we watched our dear, sweet cat draw his last breath.

We know it was the right thing to do. It would have been cruel to allow him to linger in his condition. That doesn’t make it easier.

Albert, we miss you, little friend. We will never forget you and you will always live on in our hearts.