Moving into a house with a little backyard was partly for Dagny. She’d have a place to run around and call her own, a place to lie down and enjoy the best that house life has to offer. And be able to go out without supervision. But not so fast. On any given morning, you can find me running outside in my pajamas yelling at two neighborhood cats like a deranged fool — confirming to the curious neighbors that their neighbor is in fact nuts. Whose cats are they, you ask? No clue. And don’t get me wrong — I like cats. I had one growing up. But know what I don’t like?