Earlier this evening, I saw a Facebook post from a cat owner announcing that her cat was pregnant. She asked people not to post any negative comments. She knew she should have had her cat spayed, but the pregnancy was an accident; the kittens would go to a good home. A post like that bothers me. How can a pet owner claim the pregnancy was an accident? Anyone with an ounce of responsibility knows that pets should be spayed or neutered at an appropriate age. It's that simple. Don't claim that you don't have the time—you don't have to do the procedure yourself: make an appointment with the vet, hop in your car or call a taxi, and take the pet to the doctor. Others claim they don't have the money for such a procedure. In that case, don't have a pet. When you adopt a pet, you accept responsibility for its well-being. That means three sets of inoculations and having the pet spayed or neutered. One shouldn't just think of the animal but also of the litters that a single cat or dog can produce. If one cat or dog has five litters of six kittens or puppies, that's 30 offspring. If each of those 30 has five litters of six, that's 900. When someone stated that unspayed or unneutered pets should be kept in the house, another replied that it's cruel to keep a pet indoors. I remember my father saying much the same when I told him about my indoor cats. He said that surely they miss walking the neighborhood and feeling the grass under their paws. So I asked him, "Dad, do you miss climbing Mount Everest and feeling the snow crunching under your feet with every step to reach the summit?" "Of course not," he said. "I've never climbed Everest, so how can I..." And right there and then he understood that it's not cruel to keep a cat indoors. The animal cannot miss what it never experienced.

Finally, I want to address the matter of finding good homes for kittens or puppies. Never assume that when a person shows up to adopt a cat, he or she has the pets' best interests at heart.

Good Friday is a day I have a problem with. Christians the world over are supposed to remember this day as the day when Jesus Christ died, but when exactly did he die? This year we remember the tragic event on March 25th, but let's have a look at other years: 2015 — April 3rd; 2014 — April 18th; 2013 — March 29th; 2012 — April 6th. How are we supposed to properly pay our respects when the date keeps changing? Yes, I know the date of Easter is based on the lunar calendar. When I looked it up on Google, I got the following explanation: Unlike a lot of Christian feast days, Easter does not have a fixed date. The feast is based on the lunar calendar, so Easter is scheduled to fall on the Sunday that follows the full moon on or after March 21, also known as the spring equinox. While this might be a perfectly rational explanation, to me it makes no sense. How can one remember the most important death in history but keep moving it around? Let's look at some other historical figures: Cleopatra — August 12, 30 BC; Julius Caesar — March 15, 44 BC; Nero — June 9, AD 68; Augustus — August 19, AD 14; Leonardo da Vinci — May 2, 1519; Galileo Galilei — January 8, 1642. If someone was able to record these dates for future generations, why mess with Jesus Christ's death? If it was, for instance, April 5, it should always be April 5, regardless of which day that date happens to fall on. We are equally wrong when we observe a moment of silence at 3:00 p.m., the time Jesus is supposed to have died. To be correct, on the East Coast of the United States and Canada this moment of silence should be observed at 8:00 a.m., as Jerusalem is seven hours ahead of the East Coast. I find it mind-boggling that throughout history people have drawn and written what was important to them, but nobody made an accurate notation of the date of Jesus Christ's death. Or did they and was this date conveniently "lost"? It is generally known that Constantine, together with 300 religious leaders, decided what information was included in the Bible. The cats' noses are a little out of joint because they can't go outside. Quite frankly, my nose is out of joint too. In the first week of March, the temperature reached 12 and even 14 degrees Celsius (that's 53.6 and 57.2 degrees F), and everyone thought spring had sprung early. I washed heavy winter jackets, sweaters, scarves, and gloves, all to be put away clean until we needed them again. While I washed and cleaned, the cats enjoyed a watery sun on the balcony. Yes, it was still a bit chilly, but in their fur coats they seemed comfortable. As the balcony door remained open, they were able to come and go as they pleased. That is to say, Charlotte, Mickey, and Gabriel came back in when it got too cold for them, but Holly had her own set of rules. She sat by the door and meowed when she wanted to come in. When I said, "Come on then; the others managed—you'll fit, too," she gave no sign of movement. So I opened the door a little more, enough for a poodle to fit through. Holly remained seated. I opened the door wider still; a German Shepherd would have had no problem squeezing through, but still no movement on Holly's part. So I opened the door so wide a horse could have galloped in, and, yes, Miss Holly daintily stepped over the threshold. Honestly, that cat has illusions of grandeur. Of course, now that they were used to going outside, they couldn't understand, when the weather turned colder again, why they couldn't go on the balcony any longer.