The cat's meow.

He has finally found a way to get to me. To tug at my heart, my guilt, my love for all things slightly overweight and furry. This one homeless man who roams the financial district streets near my office holds not only a cardboard sign asking for food, money, a smoke, what have you, but in his arms -- a cat. An adorable, shades-of-gray kitty with light-colored eyes that make it impossible to pass by without feeling guilty for not stopping, and who is utterly devoted to, committed to this homeless man. This morning, the kitty was perched right behind the man's used soda cup propped up for spare change, as if the cat was monitoring the deposited coins...and asking for them. Looking up at you with its irresistible eyes...uttering, "mew."

My heart pulls for the cat, and admittedly, not for the homeless man. I know neither of their stories (perhaps I should ask), and for all I know the cat was in a worse place before befriending this man, but of course, when I see a cat attached to a homeless guy, it makes me wonder how it's fed and how it stays healthy. And then it makes me want to buy things for this cat to make sure it has food and isn't dying.

There's a part of me that rejoices - at least this homeless guy has a companion, someone (ok, fine, something) to keep him company, to talk to... But also, homeless having pets - something about this screams "bad idea" to me, because when it comes down to it, are they truly taken care of? Are they safe?

Oh kitty.