The naming of cats is a serious matter.

Which must be why so many cat owners in Virginia-Highland refuse to do it.

It happens, on average, once a week: I’ll be peacefully walking down the street, minding my own business, when a cat appears and assaults me with its cuteness. Aren’t cats supposed to be aloof? Not these cats. Today I was returning from the gym when a gorgeous gray cat with gorgeous green eyes approached me, meowed, and then rolled onto its belly, and then when I had to get home, followed me for a third of a block.

And like most of the cats I run across, the gray beauty obviously belonged to someone — her fur was neat and well-groomed — and she wore a collar, but no tag. There was no way for me to tell whose house she’d come from, or how far she was from home, though she looked pretty comfortable.

I beg you, cat owners of Va-Hi: TAG YOUR CATS. One of these days I am going to snap, pick up your friendly, cute, untagged cat, take him home, kiss him and love him and call him George, and there will not be one shred of evidence that he belongs to you and not me. You do not want this to happen. I have never owned a cat before, my mother is allergic to cats, and my boyfriend dislikes cats. And yet the idea of owning a cat becomes steadily more irresistible every time I get meowed at in the middle of the sidewalk.

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