Roach, Toupe, and Orange-y

We've lovingly named the stray kittens under our porch. Roach is so ugly he's a novelty, Toupe is actually a female, and Orange-y is well, pretty-much your boring regular orange tabby.

For some reason we name these creatures that up-chuck on the wooden slats, I'm convinced, use our flower beds as a well-decorated litter box, but we can't name the fish. That reside in our bedroom. We paid money for these fish. They remain nameless. (Except one I dubbed Chum Chum because I couldn't resist and he's an idiot.)

Why do we love these cats? Aren't they the same cats that when our old roommate zipped out of the house last month to the beach, she locked my loving, domesticated, long-haired, no-clawed cat out with them. His once luxuriously silky smoke-colored coats is not scraggled, and he's missing all the hair around his neck. And the vet is charging me $150 a visit to troubleshoot this hair-losing, vacuum clogging, cat situation. (By the way, my cat -unlike the fish- has a name. De La Cruz.) I blame the strays on this. They probably gave him some horrible disease that, because they are 7th generation stray cat, are immune to.

Yet, I love these stray cats and look for them every day before I drive off to work. I hope one day they clean up their act and get off the streets. Or at LEAST start practicing safe sex.