Vicky Walker

As a record store geek in London, I always preferred filing in the back room to being mean to customers who asked for records by Esther Glorifan and the Miami Sewing Machine, or "that song I heard on the radio yesterday at about two o'clock." Later, I became a record company reptile who schmoozed with fourth-rate indie bands who never troubled the compilers of the pop charts.

I moved to California in 2000 and put my lifelong grammar nerd tendencies to work as editorial operations manager at two alt-weeklies. I also volunteered at the SPCA, specializing in working with Affection Eaters, which are not evil zombie cats but rather the frightened cats and kittens who need company at mealtimes. I never thought I'd get paid for combining my fervent kitty love with my mad copyediting skillz, but here I am!

Full Name: Vicky Walker

Age: Verging on decrepitude

Location: San Francisco via York and southeast London

Where You Can Find Me on the Internet: Right here on Dogster

What I Do for a Living: Executive editor at Catster/Dogster

What I Do for Fun: Research San Francisco history, interview octogenarians about San Francisco history, try to build a time machine to see more of San Francisco history

The Furry Members of My Household Are: Ambrose Hoffman, aka the Velvet Lamb, an excessively fluffy tuxedo boy; Gentleman Jim, a mediumhaired ginger tabby who moves like jelly sliding off a table

My Favorite Things to Write About Are: Bernal Heights, cat idiosyncrasies

My Pet Peeves Are: False ranges, overamplification, misuse of the possessive apostrophe

My Guilty Pleasures Are: Stephen King novels, Thorntons tablet fudge, and The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, sometimes simultaneously

How I Deal with Cat Hair: In the house: wait for it to form into tumbleweed dust bunnies and harvest. On clothes: clump of parcel tape wrapped around my hand.

What I Want to Be When I Grow Up: Less sarcastic

Stories by Vicky Walker