I hadn't seen Mister Mittens since breakfast when she jumped into bed with me at 5:30 a.m. looking for something to eat. I got one head butt and just some paws working my right leg (claws in) in order for me to get my old ass out of bed. Oh yeah, I saw her during the day while she perched by a window and napped out but she never approached me.

After the getaway at Belmont she came upstairs and parked on her haunches next to my desk. She didn't make a sound or a move but kept glaring at me with those large green eyes. She was hungry.

I go down to the kitchen and start breaking out the cat food for her and her kittens. She starts rubbing up against my legs and mews with joy. I pet her and and she acknowledges the attention by closing her eyes and sighing with hapiness and licking my hand.

I feed her.

Now with a full belly she could give #&%$ less if a bus came through the wall and and sent my splatters moving for three blocks.

Damn, I love that girl. You have to live a cat or two or three or four to catch the love, the humor and the joy.

Last night I watched a show on one of the National Geographic Channels entitled The Science of Cats. The cat is the only goddamn wild animal on the planet that made the choice to be domesticated by man and they don't let you forget it. Mister Mittens is now a house cat but there is no doubt in my mind that if I kicked her out into the streets again that she would survive until age or disease or bad luck killed her.