I love cats. But they have to be aesthetically pleasing, or somewhat exoctic. I just don’t have time for run-of-the-mill bullshit cats. I’ve always gone for looks, not personality. Ex-wife excluded. I needed a home then.

Back in November I got my roommate a pedigreed Flamepoint Siamese kitten. I knew I was going to get her some kind of pet but I just didn’t know what. I spent some time on Google researching annoying pets. Some weren’t legal in Canada, so I settled for a Siamese cat.

My brilliant agitation scheme cost me about 900 dollars in total when you factor in supplies. I had to buy everything. The best food, the best litter, the best litter box, the best crate. I had an ego, afterall.

Well after a few maddening weeks of incessant meowing, the cat became known as Jerry. I named him after the guy in the movie, 3 O’Clock High. Jerry really doesn’t shut up. But he’s easy to forgive because he’s so beautiful with such gorgeous eyes. Had he been one of the aforementioned run-of-the-mill bullshit cats, he would have been out on his ass faster than you can say Doug Hell. THAT fast.

So my roommate, Hack, who is also my best friend, occasional tail, and I spent a few days in Detroit for a funeral. On the last day we stayed in some ghetto rooming house. It was cheap. There is no cheaping out on acceptable pets but when it comes to lodging I just need a room and a fan. Sometimes a skank.

So the morning after, I was out on the back deck (deck!?) having coffee. This was a bad neighbourhood. The backyard led to a greasy alley and both yards on either side looked like a flea market threw up in them. Even our back deck had a couple destryoed tires and a bunch of seemingly defunct auto parts.

Before too long, my presence was noted by a cat that came to visit. Unfortunately it wasn’t a regal cat. But it had a homely charm to it because it looked a little like Sylvester from Looney Tunes. Hack said it looked like it was wearing a tux. It kinda did. So other than being a barely pettable cat, it had the liability of reminding me how hard it was for me to find dress clothes for my funeral. Therefore, I wasn’t willing to give it the love it was clearly starved for.

After about five minures we were happened upon by a GORGEOUS six week old kitten. She was a black and grey tabby. She had the most beautiful little eyes and was extremely friendly. She must have belonged to someone because she was too well groomed and friendly. She wasn’t just some love starved beatnick like Sylvester in the tux.

I allowed myself to pet the pristine kitten and whisper affectionate things I usually reserve for potential flings. She deserved the absolute best version of me even though she had no clear pedigree. Her looks alone justified my affections.

Then wouldn’t you fucking know it, along come this dilapidated, vapid, ugly, exhausted-faced cat. You could immediately tell this cat was a filthy stinky urchin that never experienced the love of a human. I mean, way to ruin a moment. This cat didn’t deserve the privilege of being in our presence. It didn’t stop there either. This cat decided it was going to attack Nermal, the world’s cutest kitten.

Without hesitation I grabbed the transmission of a 1989 Buick Skylark. With surgical precision I threw it at the freakshow and connected with it right underneath it’s tail in the ass. Uglypants bolted about ten feet before looking back with its exhausted looking face. It wasn’t pleased. It beelined its degenerate existence into the equally derelict alley and out of my handsome life forever.

Back to the issue of the gorgeous kitten. We had to have her. She was as cute and beautiful as a standard cat could be. Only problem was she had to belong to someone. She was too pristine. We weren’t thieves.

Hack went and knocked on the neighbour’s door aremed with a broken exhaust pipe from a 1993 Chevy Cavalier. The door was answered by a clown. At the clown’s side must have been his clown son. It was kinda cute seeing a mini clown. Hack asked if the kitten belonged to them. The big clown nodded and smiled (it may have just been the make-up) before sticking a pie in Hack’s shocked face.

Without hesitation, Hack smashed the clown in the face with the pipe. The contact made a honking sound like a bicycle horn. The clown kid lunged at Hack and sank his teeth into her shin. She shook the kid off and grabbed the absolutely beautiful kitten. She bolted for our getaway car I was waiting in with the engine running.

The border cops weren’t pleased about the gigantic jar of Detroit Style Pickled Eggs I was trying to smuggle over the border but after hearing about our ordeal with Operation Cat Grab they showed mercy. They didn’t like comely animals gallavanting around. It somehow diminished the city’s reputation.

They told me we couldn’t go further without crating the cat. I didn’t know what business it was of theirs how we transport a cat in Canada but I wasn’t about to argue. I dumped out the jar of picked eggs and stuffed the cat in it. It mewed in protest but rules are rules.

Please help us come up with a name for her.