misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

I don't need to provide particular details about my feelings towards cats, as I'm fairly sure I've written a blog or two describing my position. In summary, since I was in 6th grade, mauled by my aunt's cat in an attempt to pet it, I haven't trusted any cat i've ever come across. Cats are bitches. They are disloyal, boring, selfish, unappreciative, and, most importantly, untrustworthy. You can feed and provide shelter to a cat for twelve years and, on the first day of year thirteen, the cat will rip out your eyes and piss in your skull without a second thought. I am certain of this.

Problem is, Jill doesn't feel the same. She likes cats. She had one growing up. For the past two years, she's asked me every day if we could get one. Knowingly, I refused. A centaur would enter my apartment sooner than a cat.

Unfortunately, Jill doesn't respect a goddamn word I say. On Tuesday, she IM'ed me to say that her friend had found a four-week-old kitten in shivering in front of a Kinko's on 56th street @ 8th avenue, and that it needed a home. Without consulting me, she told her friend that we would take the kitten. After a night spent at a shelter, where it was examined and given all necessary shots (no Feline HIV or Feline Leukemia. Maybe I'm a cat-hater, but the thought of a kitten with AIDS simply doesn't do it for me), Jill brought the alley kitten to my apartment.

Ultimately, I somewhat respect any young creature that can survive for four weeks at 56th and 8th avenue without any cash, identification, or parental supervision (I certainly couldn't). Perhaps this little furry survivor deserved the benefit of the doubt.

Without futher ado, let me introduce you to "fifty-six" (name still pending):

I personally find fifty-six a bit ugly, if I am to be honest. Her lower-jaw is too narrow, making her look like her dad was a possum. And, as you can see, she's got random colored hairs everywhere, as if she was the result of a feline gang-bang .. A little bit of everything went into her making. I'm also struggling with the fact that I didn't get to pick her. I didn't walk into an animal shelter or pet shop and find the cutest kitten there. I'm a particular man. I like particular things. Had I had a choice, I wouldn't have picked this particular animal.

But here it is. Meowing from the bathroom as we speak (it lives in the bathroom for now, until it grows a bit and stops getting caught behind our appliances .. Suffice to say, she doesn't appreciate my morning fecal deposits).

As much as i've warned Jill, I fully expect to come home in a few weeks to find my tv and laptop missing, with a note from the kitten as follows:

"Thanks for letting me crash the pad, humans. Sorry about the TV and laptop, but a cat's got to eat ... See ya on the flip side .. "

If that doesn't happen, i'm quite sure i'll come home to find her and her friends drinking my beer, playing music way too loud.

Cats are not to be trusted. Ever. Especially this one:

So when I come home next week, and all my shit is gone, I can't say i'll be surprised. In the meantime, any name suggestions are welcome. Fifty-six simply isn't cutting it, and Jill has flat-out denied my other suggestion: Criminal.