As you may or may not know, there are also two feline members of our family. The poor cats have really gotten the short end of the stick since we've had babies. They used to roam free about the house all day and night. Actually, when I first got Jake, he even slept in my bed. By the time Ava came along, they were getting locked on the porch at night, because they would practically tear the house apart chasing each other around. And when Dane was born, they were banished to the basement. Now, I've decided to give them back some freedom and let them explore the great outdoors. They seem to be enjoying it, too.
Jake
I acquired Jake when I was in college, in the summer of 1997. He's 10 years old now, which means I've known Jake longer than I've known my husband! He's an ex-barn cat whose mother was a good mouser, but you'd never be able to tell by looking at him now. Hopefully outdoor life will help him trim up a bit.

Ava was a year old before she out-weighed Jake!
Steve
(AKA Pee-Wee)

Steve is our southern cat. I suppose if cats could talk, he'd have a drawl. He joined our family when we lived in Georgia in 2003. His mama got run over by a tractor and one of the guys left him where I would find him, because he figured I would take good care of him. He fit in the palm of my hand (hence the name Pee-Wee), and was so malnourished his black fur was a brownish color. Then he developed a skunk-like white stripe down his back. Now he's true black and white. His name morphed from "Pee-Wee" to "Steve" for several reasons: 1. Russ saw an episode of Letterman where the top ten list was something like "top ten books with the name Steve in the title" and thought it was funny; 2. my brother Allen's nickname is "Pee-Wee" and I guess he didn't like sharing it with a cat; and finally 3. "Steve" is easier for Ava to say than "Pee-Wee". So there you have it, the story of Steve the Cat.
Update on Steve:
After a day or two of roaming outside during the day, Steve got brave and decided not to come in Friday night. I found him cowering in a corner of the garage Saturday afternoon, and he seemed to be really sore. Judging by the pile of black and white fur I saw out in the yard this morning, he must have gotten into a pretty big scuffle. Guess a lazy neutered house cat is no match for a farm-raised tomcat! Steve did venture outside again this afternoon, but not too far past the patio. Poor guy. Must've been traumatic.