As you know, we brought two cats home to Maine from Dubai. One, Lilly, was from Maine already (shout out to Harvest Hills Animal Shelter) and the other, Kitty, was a stray tiny kitten which Liz found near one of her apartments in Dubai.

As you also might know, especially from recent events, that I'm more of a dog person than a cat person. Growing up we had always had dogs, and never cats.

So not only was being married and living in Dubai new for me, even the pet thing was.

The good thing is that Kitty is rather clever. Once I in Dubai caught him trying to turn the knobs on the tub to get a drink of water. Seriously. That's a pretty good leap, remembering that last time I turned the knobs and water came out of the spigot, and then trying to reproduce the effect himself.

He also uses his paws to pick things up, like popcorn kernels. It's seriously just a hair away from prehensile thumbs.

But then there are the times that Kitty just doesn't know any better.

In Dubai our neighbors Michael and Katherine had a dog. She would bark quite often, we could hear here right on the other side of a rather poorly constructed concrete wall. It never phased Kitty - he wouldn't budge. I guess he'd never met a dog, let alone know that they're supposed to be his mortal enemies, so he just didn't know.

I assume it'll be the same when Kitty faces snow for the first time. Dang, I wish I could take him outside for that. It'd be hilarious.

Anyway, there are very few times when Kitty is downright stupid. Last night was one of them.

Picture a rainy autumn night, we'd just had dinner and were watching Jeopardy. Oh, and we had a few votive candles lit on the coffee table. Kitty was milling about, he tail getting ever closer and closer to the flames.

"Watch out homeboy," I warned him, "Or you'll scald your ... holy shit, Liz, his tail is smoking!"

Yes, Kitty caught on fire last night.

No, it wasn't a stop-drop-and-roll situation, he was really only lightly singed. But the bizarre part is that Kitty didn't know what the hell had just happened.

Obviously he felt no pain, as Liz had to shoo him away from the flames. After that he climbed on the back of the couch and sat down. Then he proceeded to smell the cushion right where his tail had been.

He could smell something had burned, that something wasn't right, but didn't know it was him.

Liz, God bless her, kept grabbing his tail and pushing it towards his nose.

"This is what burned! This!"

But he didn't get it. He was smelling the air, the cushion, Liz's hands ... but not his tail.

I guess it makes sense, all of the hair on our bodies is dead, with no nerve endings, so I wouldn't know if my head was on fire until I smelled the awful stench of burning hair.

Eventually he figured it out and was licking his tail. But I bet you a year's worth of kitty litter that he doesn't have a clue as to what caused his tail to catch fire.

Sometimes he's not so clever after all ...