Those of you who have been perusing this column for a long time are probably familiar with the famous Patricia of Pittsburgh, with whom I became fast friends on Black Friday of 2007.

If you are not aware of this woman, she is also known as “Mama” in “Callie's World,” a Community News column written by her cat.

In ‘07 when I was placed gently, yet effectively, in the pages of the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, she took the time to email me in order to let me know that she liked my guest piece.

One thing led to another and we became pen pals, as well as “face to face” friends. So, we have been very close now for several years and dig this...I don't even have to pay her for this. She really likes me. Can you imagine?

This quick history lesson is important for the sake of new readers and those of you who, like me, might forget, from one minute to the next, the name of your first born child—wait, I only have one child. Thanks for bringing that to my attention.

At any rate, I had the opportunity to, once again, visit with Patricia in the charming hamlet of Carnegie, PA. We had a slumber party in her brand new apartment. (I think Callie has written about the new digs so I won't get into that.)

I set up my camping gear in one corner of her crib and I was good to go. (I'm trying to be hip with the 'crib' stuff and am failing miserably. Even the word 'hip' isn't hip. It's pretty square, and there I go again. There's no hope. I'm old. I'm not up with the new lingo and I must accept this and get on with my life.)

She and Callie were a bit taken aback when they returned from the courtyard to find me emerging from my tent, but they picked themselves up off the floor and adjusted accordingly.

KIDDING OF COURSE! I only brought my camp bed along. I'm not that crazy—stop thinking impure thoughts right this instant.

Moving along, I got to spend time with our feline freelancer and we took a moment to chat about what it's like to pound out a column.

She stretched out on my cot, licked my hand, tilted her head in my direction, slowly squeezed her eyes shut and viciously attacked my arm—all in good fun, of course.

After a quick reprimand from Patricia, Callie began to impart the hardships involved in producing a column, without the luxury of possessing fingers.

“I just have to type the old fashioned way with my chunky, yet wonderful, paws hitting the keyboard one stroke at a time. This takes longer than the way Mama does it because her fingers fly across the letters. I get rather jealous of that but, I tell myself that even though she can type like the wind, I have a weekly column and she doesn't. Sorry but I do brag and I'm not going to change my ways for this interview. I am who I am,” she said whilst simultaneously going in for the kill that was my left leg.

After Callie mentioned, in passing, that the assault on my now throbbing leg was something she simply could not resist, as it was instinctual, she continued to prattle on whilst I applied a bandage to my now bloodied limb.

“Sometimes I have to hint to my roommate, that would be Mama, that it's time for me to get my work turned in to the Chief. She likes to play card games and things on the computer—you know, silly human mind-numbing-time-passing-boring-unimportant stuff—no offense to humans. She seems to be glued to the monitor every time I have a major assignment.

Plus, as you know since you are a fellow writer, we have deadlines. As much as I'd like to catnap my life away like some animals that walk upright, I am constantly looking ahead to my next piece.

Getting back to removing Mama from my computer space, I usually give her a good hearted, and quite casual, gesture that indicates that I MUST take the computer chair and NOW,” Callie shared as swung her tail, hitting the cot with a thud. (I discovered that this is a way in which Callie shows that she's happy. She rarely purrs but, she flips and flops her tail around and makes quite a bit of noise in the process.)

I then asked her how, exactly, she went about getting Patricia to exit the vicinity of said computer.

“Well, I jog—OK, I waddle along on the different parts of the desk. My belly swings to and fro thereby 'relocating' the contents to the floor. When she gets up to clean the mess, I pounce in and steal the chair!

Mama loves me so and could never get mad at anything her little angel might do. What do you think of that? Yep Aunt Lisa, I have Mama right where I want her don't I?”

Before I had a chance to reply, my cantankerous calico columnist appeared to lose all interest in the interview. Indeed, she took on the stereotypical attributes of all things kitty cat as she, in quite the aloof manner, half jumped and half rolled from my nomad-like living quarters.

She never looked back as she sauntered off in the direction of a stray corn chip that had come to rest at the foot of her own queen sized bed. The food particle, more than likely, arrived at its resting place during one of our many feeding frenzies.

Since the subject of my questioning was no longer in the moment, I was not able to gather any more information for her loyal fans. Therefore, this column is pretty much over for the week. You may now exhale.

In “Callie's World” fashion, I shall sign off with a moral, just like she does at the end of her columns.

Let's see, the moral of the story is: All writers, whether human or feline, can, and will, become easily distracted by something as simple as a fallen chip. Well, I gave it a good try but I'm not a cat so give me a break!

P. S. This marks my four year anniversary with the newspaper. Flowers, cards, gifts and candy can, and must, be delivered directly to the newsroom. Oh no. It seems as though Callie's boasting has rubbed off on me. I'm off to chase a bird or kill a mouse.