Should definatly be the next internet catch phrase. And if it’s linked to you, will definatly make you out as a bigger pervert then…well even sheep fucker Hal.
A goal to shoot for I think 
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Hmmmm…well, wouldn’t be the first time I underestimated the subtle machinations of the feline.
But I still think they’re trying to come up with a back up plan for when we’re asleep and sitting on our heads dosn’t work. Of course when they do they won’t tell us.
Our cats love the portable space heater, which we have dubbed The Mechanical Mother.
What are you doing with my cat??
We moved last week, and Khan has just discovered the joys of forced air heating vents in the floor. My room is freezing because he’s always lying right on the vent, absorbing all the warmy goodness. He also loves candles, and at nearly eight years old, has still not figured out that if you sniff the pretty hot thing, sometimes it takes your whiskers in exchange. His tail, by the way, goes up like a Roman candle if I don’t watch him carefully.
I also thought you were saying your cat had discovered fire the way man did. I was expecting a thread in IMHO asking if you should:
- Keep the cat’s name the same
- Change it to Prometheus
- Change it to sans-culottes
Wow, they could be close relatives. Where’s your kitty from?
My kitty was found up in Boonville NY on a Mountain Rd just after my wife and I got married.
She was the smart one in the litter. She climbed right up on me and sat on my shoulder. She went home with us of course.
I know her brother survived many years as a Barn Cat, we don’t know what happen to the little sister. She probably passed away young. I regret not rescuing all 3 but was happy the Male did well. He lived at least 8 years and maybe longer, a good run for a barn cat.
I like **Prometheus ** better than Sans-Culottes, maybe that could be your next pet. 
You could be on to something, they are very clever and a good backup plan is always a good idea.
Jim
Most likely a pet store somewhere in Bergen County. I got him as a hand-me-down when he was still a kitten–an acquaintance had bought him before finding out if his grandmother would let him have a cat. When she told him that there were No Cats Allowed, he brought it along with him to Rocky Horror that night, and I was more than happy to take the little fuzzball. I distinctly remember the erstwhile owner handing him over to me and saying “His name is Angel.” To which I said “Thank you, honey … but his name is most certainly not Angel**.” Then I took him home and fed him chicken noodle soup because I didn’t have anything else in the house. 
**That may sound cruel, but the same boy showed up a year later (after he’d moved out of his grandmother’s house) with a tiny little female kitten named Whore. His pet-naming skills left a little to be desired.