"I think that is the game," Cathy said. She sat down in the chair next to me, one leg tucked up under her.

I sipped my lemonade. "Strange creatures."

"Our children?"

"You think if we put them in cages out front, people'd pay a dollar a pop to see them?"

"If we include the Cavanaughs' kids, they'd probably pay us a dollar just for putting them in cages."

I laughed. "The get-rich-quick scheme we've been looking for."

"Has anyone ever told you that you have the nicest laugh in the world?" Cathy said. "I love that about you. The way you laugh all the time."

"Ah, you're just saying that to get me to have sex with you."

"Speaking of which, the kids are all going over to the Matthews house later for pizza and a video. We should have a couple of hours to ourselves."

"I'm going to run you to ground like a cheetah running down a deer."

"Ooh," she said.

"Like a panther. I may even wear my panther costume."

"You know your panther costume drives me wild."

We held hands and drank lemonade and watched our children for a while in companionable silence.

That, in brief, was my life before the End of Civilization as We Know It. And I loved it. I loved her, Cathy, and to hell with all the Tanyas of the world, let them go. I loved our children. I loved our neighborhood, Horizon Hill, the Hill for short. Big yards, Craftsman houses, lake views. Friendly, mostly like-minded people, hardworking dads, housewife moms, not too many divorces, lots of kids. Most of us were white and Christian, I guess, but we had a good number of Jews mixed in and a few blacks as well. In fact, I think we were a little overfond of them-our Jews and blacks-a little overfriendly to them sometimes because we wanted them to know they were part of the gang, that it was our values that made us what we were, not the other stuff. It was a place of goodwill-that's what I'm saying. I was very happy on the Hill.