Last week I wrote about our adventures in Fiji and many special people we met there. I said I could write a whole column about the Russians there. Little did I know that a story was unfolding in our own country that would relate to theirs so closely.

My girls met Ivan and Tanya (not their real names) before I did. They went to dinner one evening at our homestay while I was still in the shower, and when I showed up there wasn't a seat by all of them. Back at our room they told me how delightful the Russian couple was, using our family shorthand: catfish.

To be catfishy in our family is the highest honor. I don't know how we arrived at it; perhaps the fact our Boston terrier Mugsy resembles a catfish like he does a frog and also a pig, even though he's a complete original.

What we mean when we call someone a catfish is that they are adorable, funny, sweet, interesting, endearing, clever, and just the right amount ornery. It is like when Anne of Green Gables describes someone as a "kindred spirit." A catfish is someone we want to squeeze, someone we could eat........

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