Friday is a short haired, dark grey-and-white American shorthaired kitty with green eyes ... and a mischivous streak.

Nothing escapes her eyes ... let alone, her paws.  Chances are, if it moves or is bright in color, Friday will find it ... and claim it as her newest toy.

I have lost more socks, more buttons, more pens, pencils, paper, magazines, etc. to the evil clutches (or should that be PAWS??) of Friday.

I am glad I adopted Friday from the local animal shelter, but at the same token, I am ready to take her BACK there.  I am getting sick and tired of haiving to search for lost or missing items, and I am getting sick and tired of having to pick up items she has knocked over.

Case in point: Christmas.  The day Friday was careening through the livingroom like a bat out of H-E double hockey stick and managed to bowl the Christmas tree over.  Ornaments, Christmas lights, and water went eveywhere.  

The presents were underneath.

Needless to say, the kids (and Margo and myself) had to open damp Christmas gifts and I had to explain to the kids that Santa had a little accident while putting the presents underneath the tree (I didn't want to tell 'em it was really Friday who did it).

I knew it was Friday all along because the cat sat in the corner, facing the wall, looking very guilty.  You could very easily see the guilt written all over her face.  She looked rather sorrowful.  Yet I didn't think she really meant it.

Friday has also clawed my wife's legs, causing gaping runs in her panty hose just before an important speaking engagement (my wife is an author/speaker), clawed the kids' arms when they get too rough with her (the kids ae two and six), and shared her obvious dislike towards my mother-in-law: she hates cats, and Friday knows it, so she voices her opinion quite readily.

I don't know what I am going to do: I am at my wit's end with this darned cat, but if I don't think of something quick, Friday may very well end up going back to the poind, and that is the last thing I would want to do with her!