After perfecting his cat throw, Jonas learns to cat-juggle, catching and releasing the tawny fur balls by the napes of their necks. When he masters seven, I notify the press. They televise the event for the five o'clock news. We train the cats to meow Beethoven’s Fifth while Jonas juggles them. The reporter calls the event breathtaking. A woman on the street palms her cheeks, says only, Beautiful. For Christmas, father buys Jonas throwing knives and encourages him to add them to the act. He does so precariously, incorporating knife after cat, knife after cat, adding an additional twenty feet to the arc of his parabola. With this change in regiment, though, not everyone is pleased. Juniper, the smallest kitten, bites Jonas on the wrist during the rotation. Jonas curses the cat and drops the act literally. Today our home is littered with holes and cats who run through them and knives we never use.