Sometime last year, I noticed something that piqued my curiosity: a kitten, small as your hand and black as night, was lurking uncollered on my block.

Depending on what part of the world you're in, a stray cat is no anomaly. A stray kitten, even, can be normal, no one paying it any mind except in a bid to avoid stepping on it. I suppose you could say that I live in one of those parts of the world. Even still, after seeing this particular kitten a few times, my heart gave. It would meow at me, even follow me for a time, before stopping and just staring.

I began putting food out for it, just outside my door -- just a small bit of tuna and some water. Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't exactly planning on what happened next but one day, with the porch door open, it wandered inside. When it saw me, it hid underneath my couch, only its glowing eyes peeking out of the dark.

Here was a dilema I wasn't expecting -- I didn't really know what to do. Keep it or take it to the humane society? Come as it may, the choice ended up being out of my hands. As soon as my girlfriend came home, she took one look at it and, being a much better cat-person than myself, immediately fell in love.

"We're keeping him," she said, a tone of finality hanging overhead. And that's how Orion the black cat came to be.