As most of you read this today, you either are about to — or have — enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with family and or friends.

I will do the same, though I have to make sure to keep their tails out of the gravy.

Zach and Rocky will join me today as we give thanks.

Zach, an 8-year-old tabby cat, and Rocky, a 6-year-old German shepherd, are a pair of Animal Protective League refugees.

They also hang their respective hats with me, so to speak.

Zach was the first person I let into my house after Mom passed in 1998, joining me two years later. Former Jefferson girls basketball standouts Jaimie Wilson and Sophie Golembiowski helped me pick him out. At that point, he was so tiny he could fit in my hand.

At first, it was a bit of a standoffish relationship — him being a feline, he didn’t need nor want any attention — me living a vampire-like lifestyle working nights, I didn’t, either.

Eventually, though, he’d find his way to the couch as I used the laptop. Before long, he was curled up next to me.

In his younger days, Zach was quite the active cat, playing with pretty much anything he could get his paws on. While I would toss a tennis ball against a wall, he would be between me and the wall and try to bat the ball away. If I got him really wound up, I’d chase him into the kitchen. As we both slid to a stop on the vinyl floor, we would change roles, him being the cat and me being, well, the mouse.

But it was his clashes with former roommate and co-worker John Kampf that were hilarious. While we were squaring off in some PlayStation game, John would grab Zach’s head like a softball. Zach would wrap all four legs around John’s arm and John would lift him off the ground, laughing all the while, even as Zach’s rear claws tore into his arm.

The fur would fly, I’m here to tell ya. They were quite the catfights.

A year later, I decided Zach needed some company. So back I went to the APL. I picked out a mid-size white dog, a mutt, really, and was supposed to pick him up in a few days.

During that time, however, the poor pooch became ill. When one of the good folks from the APL called to tell me he had gone to doggy heaven, it hit me hard. (Based on a recent event, perhaps I should have filed a ridiculous lawsuit against the overcrowded, underfunded APL, but I chose to be, well, humane).

Anyway, another year passed before Jessica Tremayne arrived at the Star Beacon. After meeting Zach, she looked me in the eye and said, “You’re not home enough. Zach needs a friend. You need a dog.”

Eventually, Jessica persuaded me to pay another visit to the APL. We did so with me intending to find a small or mid-size canine. As we walked up and down the aisles looking at the furry friends in their cages hoping and praying for someone to take them home, a beagle had caught my eye.