Dear Old Guy welcomes letters on all subjects, including love, marriage, child rearing, even basic plumbing and medical advice. What he doesn’t know, he is happy to make up. After all, he’s just an opinionated Old Guy.

Submit your questions to Dear Old Guy here.

Dear Old Guy,

Me again. I do appreciate your contacting the Florida Board of Slang to find out what a Q-Tip was. Once again, your answer got me to pondering the Q-tips in my own life. Considering how my hair is not near as brown as it once were and is more closely resembling a Q-tip as the years roll past, I have to ask you another age-relevant question. As you call yourself Old Guy, I figured you the sage of everything well-seasoned, so I have to ask, how old is old?

This is a complicated question that has been troubling me since the ripe old age of 28 when I was first called "old.” You see, as I was trekking upcountry for a week of camping and fishing, I figured it would be a good idea to stop and order a pizza to take with me. As I was placing my order with the young lady behind the counter, I heard a song I enjoyed on the radio and had to ask, "Who is that band playing? I really like this song." She replied, all too seriously, "I didn't know old people like Korn."

Signed, Old and Corny

Dear Old and Korny,

Yours is an age-old question only asked by people in their old age. I could blithely point to quotes by George Burns, such as “A man's only as old as the woman he feels...” but now that I have a few miles under my keel I realize that’s not true. At least not for me. Young women remind me I can feel old. Then again, when I see someone in their 80s, I feel young!

I think a different quote by Burns is more to the point: “You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old.”

And Mr. Corny, as to your feeling your advanced years for the first time in your 20s, you will always be old to someone. Observe how a toddler watches 6-year-olds and you’ll see at what an early age we start to perceive the difference. And those very toddlers look forward to being six, as much as the 6-year-olds want to be 10 and teenagers can’t wait to be in their 20s — each generation forgetting that with every turn of the calendar what you gain you lose. Okay, so I don’t know anyone 60 who covets the privileges of 70, except perhaps the chance to make it that old.

Look, I remember watching my daughter at age eight asleep one night. Looking at her I suddenly missed the girl she was at one and three and five and so on. I was saddened by the loss of all those separate, little wonderful people who were all my child. They were gone, and then it hit me. They’re not gone. I realized she’s just like one of those Russian nesting dolls. All those little girls I had loved are still in there, neatly placed one inside the other. Well, I guess that’s true for all us big folks, too. We have that 10-year-old and 20-something and so on inside you. Look and you’ll find them in yourself and others. In short, you are, at once, all the ages you’ve ever been except, now you get $2 off at the picture show. By the way, if you remember George Burns, you’re old. —O.G.

Dear Readers,

Something of a miracle occurred recently. Last summer, a cat who had been a long term companion disappeared. I can recount exactly the last morning I saw her and recall that by supper time, when she didn’t return, how I feared the worst. When two days and a week and another passed I knew. I pictured Elvira carried off by a coyote or some such creature. I imagined my cat’s last thoughts — of her safe home, of me, the family even the dog. It was all very horrible.

After nearly two months, at the behest of family, we adopted a wonderful kitten from the local shelter. Alvin became a welcome addition to our home and, for the time being, is being raised as an indoor cat.

Just a few days ago the phone rang and a woman asked if I was missing a gray cat.

You can guess the rest. Within half an hour Elvira was home again, chubbier and healthier than a cat should be after over four months on the road. In fact, she went from being the slim girl we knew to looking like the fat Elvis. Thin or not, we still love her and are glad to have her back.

Here’s why I’m writing about this: The only reason we were reunited with Elvira is because she was wearing a collar with her name and our phone number. So, please, for all you people folks with cats that go outside, get those name tags!

An investment of a few bucks might someday give you back something worth millions. Oh, yes, as far as for having the new kitten, Elvira is not happy, but oddly, the kitten is delighted to have someone new to chase. —O.G.