Nobody at the shelter wants anything to do with this mostly white cat with a smattering of black, including an unfortunate splotch right over his mouth. The picture of him on the bulletin board says his name is Adolf. His former owners were arrested on domestic terrorism charges and left Adolf behind in their apartment with two dumpsters worth of trash but no food. Adolf is one mad mean kitty.

He terrorizes the other cats in the shelter, so he’s sequestered in the ACO’s office, meowing loudly, dictatorially, hissing at anyone who comes near. I’m looking for a nice cat, a friendly cat, one who’ll sit on my lap endlessly while I read and purr and sleep next to me and all the usual happy cat things. I stumble upon Adolf by accident when I follow the ACO into her office while she fetches paperwork for me to fill out. Have you ever had a cat before? Do you want to know more about what you need to have a cat? Adolf hisses at me.

“He hates everybody,” she says, handing me an adoption application.

“Have you thought about maybe changing his name?”

“Oh, we tried, but then he just ignored us.”

I stoop next to him and look into his bright blue eyes. “What do you think we should call you? Hmmm, how about Winston? Winston’s a nice name. What do you think? Should I call you Winston?”

His purring response sounds like a restored engine.

“I’ll take him.”