And just how do I know when that blessed thing called spring has finally sprung? Simple! Cat-hair drifting -- not unlike flower petals shaken from trees by a last-minute hiss of winter’s disbelief Mother Nature is having her way! Cat-hair, I say! A wee bit here and a wee bit there, chased by the vacuum cleaner with a roar and sucking air. Or, consider the pollen -- gold flecks scattering hither and yon to gently land on mist-covered surface baked into permanence and staking their claim to impetuously seed the next year’s spring. More? Cast your disbelieving eyes on my swollen nose, reddened by constant application of the softest Kleenex known to mankind. Ah! In the final analysis, spring’s promise is always heralded by allergy-laden bliss. I see you, too, are a believer.