Last week, I left the house to take the garbage out back. I heard terrible cat sounds. Terrible. Now, remember.. this is the ‘hood, so there are cats everywhere. In any one day, there may be 4 – 5 loose in my backyard, and another taking a nap on my front steps. There are scraps and well, new litters being… created… 
and all kinds of feline sounds. I just tune them out.
But this one was different. It was urgent, not fading (that wacky Doppler effect!), and I decided to poke around my yard to investigate. I eventually realized the meowing was coming from the neighbour’s back shed. The house is vacant (the ‘hood again!) so I walked around the property to look for an easy in. I hopped the fence. Approached the shed, which I noted had a shiny new padlock and a tiny crack under the door. I made that hissy-kissy cat call. And out he came. Shaking and scared and alone.
I scooped him up. And brought him in.
So now we have a cat. As far as cats go, he’s alright. But I hate cats. I’m allergic, and I hate them. For some reason.. at that moment.. I didn’t hate him enough to call the shelter. They’re overloaded with cats right now, and would have put him down. I didn’t hate him enough to turn him back to the shed, where he certainly would have frozen to death. I didn’t h– Oh, hell. I think he’s growing on me 
