Make Mine Mike

There's a stray cat hanging around our apartment building. I think the woman downstairs feeds the fuzzy creature, and now little Brian Setzer (or is it Slim Jim Phantom?) is here to stay.

Not a big fan of cats. I'll tolerate one or two of the furniture-walkin' hairball-spittin' little monsters 'cause I usually really like the girl who owns them just that much. The things we guys put up with. Sure, sure, Mikey can play nice with kitty... But as you can probably guess, I'm more of a dog person. Then she'll say, "Oh, you'll love [Insert cutesy name here -- 'Sandy Claws', 'Finder's Fe-line', 'G. Gordon Kitty', etc.]! He's just like a dog!"

So why not get a dog? Treat a mongrel right, and it'll never turn up its haughty tail or try to gouge your eyes out – dogs aren't fickle little beasts that suddenly grow weary of your affection.

"Oh, you have to earn a cat's love. It's not unconditional like a dog's. You have to earn it."

Lemme get this straight: You give this thing a home, feed that finicky fur-ball, change the damn kitty litter... and you have to earn its love? Who's the pussy in that relationship?

Still, I gotta say, this stray cat at our place is pretty cool. She just basks in the morning sun or evening shade. Doesn't howl at night or bother anyone. I only hear her meow when I'm on my way to work. I stop and she comes up to me, rubs against my ankle and purrs. Then I can pet the little black beauty for as long as I want, until I finally have to get going.

The best part of this is I think I'm developing a new ally at the homestead. I tell her, "Now, remember, you see him, I want you to bite that Rocky the squirrel. Or Avi the landlord."