One day I will trap and nip this big, orange bastard, and on that day I will go to the bar I hang out at (Loosey’s) and buy everyone a round of drinks.

He’s not a bad cat, and I feel bad when I see his scrawny shape slinking around the neighborhood. I just want his testicles removed. I suspect he’s the sperm donor for a lot of the neighborhood kitten population. He definitely has sprayed urine against my front door and car tires. Testosterone is a dangerous thing.

His big orange pumpkin head, with big fighting cheeks, turns up on our block whenever a female is in heat. For a few weeks he had a wounded leg and was limping pretty bad. But I still note when I see him. Because those testicles are mine! Hear, that Cheeto? Mine!