Five years ago, my friends Joe and Mary plucked a couple of wayward kittens from an alley in German Village, a brick and cobblestone enclave just south of downtown Columbus, Ohio. As Mary recently told me, she and Joe thought that those two kittens, the offspring of a street cat, would suffice. But they grabbed one more. It was this third kitten who would eventually inspire tales of bemusement, consternation and disbelief that we were compelled to tell to friends, family and near-strangers from one coast to the other. The goings-on of this cat often superceded discussion of our own lives... and our lives were certainly enriched and disordered by his presence. This is the story of Dr. Turing, a savage orange tabby whose disdain for decorum, inclination for home invasion, and appetite for... well, his appetite was near-inexhaustible. I, like so many others who came into contact with The Doctor, tried to save him from himself, to help him reconcile his wilder notions with his domestic environment, to steer him away from his path of indolence and indulgence. We knew where that road would lead -- and perhaps he did, as well -- but he followed his course with a diligence and a will that would rival the most driven of his human brethren. He was a crude thug of a cat, and the most adorable feline I've ever encountered. Were he able to communicate directly with us, I doubt he would've made any apologies. Nor would he have entreatied us for affection or understanding. He likely believed, as was evident from his behavior, that whatever goal he pursued or favor he gained was his due. Any attempt to curtail his freedom -- to harsh his mellow -- was met with sustained protest and maybe a foul spray next to your head in the morning. The Doctor didn't play. But now he is gone. In the summer of 2000, we found it impossible to keep him among his siblings, to keep him indoors, and the neighbors had come close to forming a mutual defense treaty organization in order to keep their homes (and their cats) secure. The Doctor had to go. However, what fate befell him after we delivered him to the Humane Society is unknown. I went to visit him two days later, but he was nowhere to be seen. Adoption or termination were the only options to be considered... at least officially. It's well within the realm of possibility that The Doctor stunned a guard, started a decoy fire, and then jumped the wall into a waiting getaway car. I'm sure he had those kind of abilities and connections, even on the inside. The Humane Society's standard practice of sealing an animal's record would have proved to be a convenient cover for such a breach. So now, while I write this remembrance a few days short of the winter solstice, The Doctor is probably sprawled out on Bimini, eating apple butter and sipping Hennessy with Tupac and Oscar Acosta. He's probably gotten just a little bit bigger, but no less alert, contemplating the best way to get back in the game and continue his campaign for world domination. doctor 1 - doctor 2 - doctor 3 <<<