The other day, my wife paid tribute to my late father in a way that’s still making me smile.

Our neighbor’s cat had entered our house a couple of times that afternoon to oversee preparation of snacks which were then served to her outside.

A bit later, my wife said it had been “Like Grand Central Station in here.”

Of course, it had not been anything of the sort. But that was the point.

Before he died in the fall of 2007, my father employed that expression if my parents happened to have more than one visitor in a day. The company might have come and gone hours apart. Still, when I spoke to him on the phone that evening, my dad’s report almost always included the Grand Central Station line.

Today would have been his 97th birthday. I’m quite certain he would not have objected to being quoted, especially since he always enjoyed hearing about the occasionally irascible cat in question.

Now my mother asks me about that feline, almost every day. “Have you seen Chloe?”

That cat is getting up there in years. Back in 2013, I wondered if it would be her last summer. But she’s still meowing.

A pet can’t comprehend being the subject of passed-along stories about her antics, of course. She just wants some tuna.

As long as she lives, she’s welcome to come in and watch me get it ready. Even if that means turning our home into Grand Central Station.

Slice answer: “Our neighborhood block had a bully,” wrote Vicki McBride, who was 7 or 8 at the time. “One day I whined one too many times about him to my mom. She took me by the hand and we walked to his house and rang the bell. He answered the door with a smug smile. My mom said ‘Hit him!’ I backed away. She took my hand and repeated the order. I hit him. He had a black eye the next day at school. He is now a very nice and respected realtor in Spokane.”

Today’s Slice question: Autumn begins when …