Mr. Badd was born in the ceiling of a parking garage in Corpus Christi, TX, around the third week of September, 1998. Barely a month later, his mother --who was eking out a meager living from the nearby dumpster and various itinerant tomcat babydaddies-- threw him out of the nest and onto the cement floor. What happened? He was small enough that she could have carried him back up the pipes and into the ceiling if she had wanted him. Was he the runt? Did she not like him? The world may never know as Mr. Badd isn't saying, and his mother isn't interested in setting the record straight.
On my way to work I noticed someone had put a sign on my car window that read, "Please don't start your car. There is a kitten stuck in your passenger's side wheel." A miniscule bit of orange and white fuzz clung to the brake, yowling constantly. I can't say it was love at first sight, since he bit me as I dislodged him, but no one else in the apartment complex could take him, so I took him in to keep him off the streets and out of the pound. He promptly claimed the top of the closet door and the left side of the bed.
You cannot acquire a cat; the cat must choose you. And Mr. Badd had chosen. Or maybe he just likes convertibles. Either way, he has conquered his runtiness very admirably (thanks to a strenuous regimen of sleep and gluttony) and at 13 pounds probably couldn't fit in the wheel of a Peterbilt truck. He has survived four moves, two career changes (mine, not his; like all cats he is a gentleman of leisure), a bobcat, two distinct eye colors (perhaps in the course of assuming a new identity, Mr. Badd changed his eyes from cornflower blue to orange), a heart condition and innumerable brushings.
Here he is:
Mr. Badd "Oil Painting"
Mr. Badd Is not a Morning Cat
Mr. Badd's Dark Side
