Katrina plus unwanted kitten equals super volunteer

This is how I know I am a decent human being: Yesterday I got my very first kitten, and I hate cats. By accepting this enlarged rat, I saved it from being thrown into the ocean as trash, which is basically what cats, dogs, and other pets are considered on my island when a family already has more of them than they can eat.

I affectionately named my kitten the cebuano word for Mango – Mangga – and, because he is a Filipino, he must have a nickname: Ming Ming. He is utterly hideous, he has bugs, and he is not cute. Not even loving. I think we pet owners (which is what I now am) decide to raise animals because we see ourselves raising the perfect pet. Of course, when I saw Ming Ming staring up at me from a plastic sac, his eyes screaming PLEASE DON'T LET THEM THROW ME IN THE OCEAN, I assumed I could raise him to be a good kitty, the kind that liked to be held, wanted to roam everywhere with me (tucked gently away in my pocket), and of course would dance on command and lead the blind to market. And thus I took him in, in spite of his apparent flaws.

As it turns out, some beasts are predisposed to being pests. Ming Ming is one of them. He doesn't like being held, not at all. He is loud. He can't dance. He can't even walk. He. Is. Useless.

As I paraded around with him the other day (not in my pocket, I might add, but in a dirty old box big enough so that he couldn't escape), many people asked me if I would ihaw him for my birthday, a.k.a. kill him for food. Repeatedly I said no, no, no, because everyone gets a good laugh when I pretend to be shocked by such things here, but I really was thinking "it's very possible."

And with that, we can nix the title.