I was rudely awakened at 5:35 this morning when a furry creature dashed across my bed—and my head—in pursuit of another furry creature who had preceded him. Not to worry; these were not invading rodents, just two frisky 14-month-old felines who have recently enlarged the population of my townhouse and obviously decided the layout provides a perfect racing oval.

That running across the face of a soundly sleeping human thing may not sound like "good news" to the average reader, but oh, the joy! Make that "joys." Plural.

The warmth of an affectionately cozy critter curled up next to me as I read myself to sleep at night. The pleasure of being ringside for their play-fight bouts, erupting in laughter at the kung fu poses and inevitable standoffs. The comical effect of that vibrating hip waggle as one crouches, half-hidden, preparing to charge and pounce on his unsuspecting brother. And in quieter moments, the delight of watching these two snuggle, grooming each other, eventually dozing off.

Getting up in the morning has taken on renewed meaning, with my persistent charges expecting (pleading?) to be fed. Immediately. You'd think the little stinkers hadn't eaten for a week if you didn't know better. Even knowing, that's a darned convincing "pitiful me" routine they have mastered; but oh the gratification of having those beautiful amber eyes look to me for provision as they follow-me-in-front-of-me down the hallway from bedroom to kitchen.

My idea of quality entertainment? Watching these inventive rascals hide a cat toy, so they can sneak up on it and capture it before merrily tossing it into the air to be caught and hidden again. One example of natural approaches to wellness? The gentle stroking sessions that elicit purrs of tranquil contentment from all three of us.

Not so endearing was the initial adjustment period, when one of them insisted on disappearing into impossibly remote places, refusing to eat. And twice I've been awakened in the wee hours by dreadful clanging noises: first, when the valance in the office was sent plunging to the floor as someone—they're not sayin' who—apparently tried to leap to the window top, and the next night, as another someone tried to climb the shower curtain, bringing the whole arrangement crashing down, rod and all.

Admittedly, these midnight antics were a bit trying, but they encourage a perspective that could be helpful in life: laugh at the ridiculous and forgive the small stuff. And ya gotta' admire their ingenuity, their cunning, and their sheer athleticism, wherein lies another insight: look past the negative to focus on the positive. (If only I could learn to be this patient with my fellow humans!)

Meanwhile, two adorable fuzzy faces—one black, Jay; one gray and white, Downy—now greet me when I come home from an errand. Two adorable furry beings expect me to look after, care for, and love them. That's more than good news. It's pure gold.