Answer: Ivory. Question: What color is the wedding dress my older daughter just bought? I'll get back to the dress. There's a tabby cat with white paws that sits outside my house on the ground cover in front. Like it's hers. She belongs to the family next door. She seems friendly. Which means she doesn't hiss when I say, "Here kitty kitty." She just gives me her best Robert de Niro, as if to say, "You talking to me? My name is NOT kitty, bitch." I suppose she won't bother to get up until I figure out what her right name is. Like Rumpelstiltskin or something. I hope she knows enough to stay inside at night, since we have coyotes around here who like to eat cats. There's usually a rash of "Have You Seen My Cat?" signs that go up toward the end of summer at the White Hen. Sometimes I call the number on the flyer to say that the coyotes may have had them for lunch. In a nicer way, of course. There is a forest preserve down the road a bit. And we've been warned that cats are coyote food. I usually tell the unlucky owners that I, too, lost a kitty one night -- June 3, 1991 to be exact. My younger daughter's high school graduation night. Sweetest cat in the world. Her name was Ivory. See, I've come full circle. Ivory wedding dress. A cat named Ivory. Symmetry. Anyway, Ivory the cat never missed breakfast for eight years. But since that night, she's missed several years' worth. She also missed UCONN beating the poop out of Georgia Tech tonight. More about that some other time. Next year, for instance.