what Leo and George are
A month or so ago, Loui asked me a question he’d heard on a podcast: “What is your favorite thing to be?”
My first answer was “smart”; I’ve never pretended not to be a know-it-all. Loui knows me well—he said, “I expected you to say “right.” He, like me in a lot of ways but so much better, so much more selfless, said “informed” for himself, as well as “helpful.”
I thought for a moment about what the right word was for the additional answer I wanted to give for myself, and I settled on “welcoming.”
Throughout my childhood, especially once we got a pool, we often hosted people at my parents’ house—my dad’s Sunday school class at least once during the summer, family gatherings, birthday slumber parties. I often woke up in the summer to find family friends already in our pool (people were welcome, but that didn’t mean we were going to wake up early.)
Both of my parents cultivated this atmosphere (and I can see where they got it, in the way my grandparents have always welcomed people to their homes). My dad is the obsessive cleaner before gatherings, and he’s certainly earned the title of pool boy. But I’ve often heard my dad praise my mom’s gift and skill of hospitality, and I agree. She’s a great listener and makes the best homemade cookies in the world, and she made our house the welcoming place it has always been.
When I moved into my first apartment on my own in 2020, I wanted to create a place as welcoming as my parents’ house—for myself and for others. It wasn’t super possible to welcome people at that time, during the COVID-19 pandemic, but I busied myself putting up my Kentucky gallery wall and arranging my bookshelves and perfecting all of the baking recipes I’ve gotten from friends and family.
And I adopted cats. It’s hard to remember now a time when my apartment didn’t include a bowl of cat food and a litter box tucked away. I had only lived here a few months when I adopted my sweet angel Bowman, who lived the rest of his life here, happily.
Then, four years ago this week, I adopted two orange-and-white brothers and named them Leo McGarry and George O’Malley. Cat experts tell you to introduce cats to a new environment slowly, room by room. I was too ignorant to do that, I guess, but it seems Leo and George felt right at home—within hours, they had explored the apartment and were comfortable cuddling with me on the couch.
Since I’ve lived here, I think and I hope I have been welcoming. I’ve had friends spend the night here, to avoid a late-night drive or when in need of a temporary place to call home. I’ve hosted Taylor Swift release celebrations and a successful surprise party and watch parties for everything from UK basketball games to journalism award ceremonies. At least two recent mothers have breastfed in the office, and the kitchen table once served as an on-the-go newsroom.
I think the people who feel welcomed to my apartment like visiting for me, and I know they like the cookies, cornflake goodies, Butterfinger cake and other things I bake. But I also know who the real stars of the show are: Leo and George.
They’re the stars of the show for me, without a doubt. (A quick moment of praise for my husband, who moved in when we got married and has made this home so much happier, cleaner and full of homecooked food. But it’s not our anniversary just yet; this is about my and the cats’ anniversary.) I think any hospitality I do for others pales in comparison to what those cute little (okay, a little chubby) cats do for me. They greet me at the door every time I come home and they sleep at my feet as I wake up in the morning and they scream-meow while I’m in the bathroom because they can’t bear to be away from me for even that long. Right now, my laptop is perched precariously on my leg because the cats are taking up most of lap. They are loving, entertaining, precious.
In 2025, I hope I will invite more people into my confidence, into my life, into my home. I’ll strive always to be more welcoming—but the cats, they don’t even have to try.