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possesses must be cleansed of lint using only a single tweezers. This is a nightly chore, even for clothing he does not remove from the closet. One. Two. Three. Pieces of lint. He squints. Is that another piece, at the seam? Yes. Yes, it is. Pluck, and it is gone, a sense of deep satisfaction welling up inside of him. He achieves a Zen-like level of concentration by removing the lint in this manner. It gives him the fortitude not to gibber with fright and wet himself when the demons demand the drinking of the sake, the reading of the Saki . . .

THE SECRET LIFE OF
    ANDREW HATCHELL
    Andrew Hatchell travels all week and thus cannot entertain more than one cat on his premises. He must balance his need for the company of cats with his need to sustain a day career as an enterprise data warehousing consultant. By night, however, Andy scours the cities he’s sent to for cats in distress. A cat up a tree? No problem. Andy brings his own tiny titanium collapsible ladder with him. A cat beset by dogs? Andy will jump into their midst and break them up, no matter what the cost in bites and possible rabies. A cat hungry? Andy carries cat food in his plastic-lined pockets for just such an eventuality. If there are no cats in definite distress, Andy’s will seek out those felines who seem disgruntled or in some way disinclined to purr. A family with a disgruntled cat will get a stern talking to. “Don’t you know how to play with your cat?” he will tell the startled family gathered at the front door of their suburban house as he hands their plump tabby to them. “Kitty tease your cat at least once a day .” He gives them the evil eye. “If I hear of this happening again I will be back .” . . . Sometimes Andy wears his bulky superhero costume with the kitty ears, and sometimes he doesn’t. Depends on the weather.

THE SECRET LIFE OF
    DAVID KIRKPATRICK
    David Kirkpatrick works as an assistant professor at the University of Minnesota, where his research involves the cellular mechanisms underlying mutation and recombination. In short, he is a mad scientist—in fact, on the weekends, he combines his DNA with that of certain species of turtles and uses his resulting hugely buoyant shell and webbed claws to perfect his fishing in local Minnesotan lakes. But this is not his secret life. Everyone knows about his DNA experiments—it’s clear enough every time he comes out of the laboratory disheveled, cackling insanely and holding broken beakers full of green smoke. No, David’s secret life is in the field of interpretative dance, wherein he attempts to “dance out,” as he calls it, the human genome, to a Def Leppard song. Thus far, he has not placed in competition, but in his green military unitard with flowing Japanese ribbons, he creates quite a scene. He practices in fields of clover during the summer, far from any human habitation. In the winter, he furtively goes through his moves in his neighbor’s backyard when they are not around. But it is in the spring that he hits his stride, for it is in the spring that the competitions sprout like newly-planted marigolds, and an adrenalin rush is only an hour away by car. Every time, he strides out boldly, with confidence, certain the judges will understand the genius of his interpretative dance mapping out the human genome. And yet, and yet, he has never won more than an honorable mention. After competitions, he stomps into his laboratory and changes into a turtle, slides beneath the surface of the lake, and salves his wounds with water.

THE SECRET LIFE OF
    GEORGE WARE
    George Ware works as the vice president of a Fortune 500 company proposal center that responds to requests for proposals. He is the proud father of two daughters and the slave of three cats. He has a large book collection. George Ware’s house reflects the value of his position, as do his other material possessions. Hard work and a passion for books have sustained him for many years. As has his secret life.