Garfield lives in my garage.

I am a big fan of cats. Aside from my time in Auburn and our first nine months of marriage, I have never NOT had a cat. I like their independence and spunkiness. I like the fact that they can sleep in any situation.

But several months ago, we were visited by an orange beast that almost changed my thoughts on cats completely. This cat would come through Bodie's cat door, eat Bodie's food, mark his (and we KNOW it was a HE) territory, beat Bodie up, then leave.

It got to the point we couldn't put things in our garage anymore because of the marking problem and Bodie was afraid to go outside. Not good.

Brian and I finally got fed up. I still liked cats too much to call animal control, so we took matters into our own hands. We used my parent's squirrel cage to trap the cat, then brought him to a lake several miles and a major highway away for him to torture some other cat loving family.

And we lived peacefully.

For a month.

Wednesday night, we got home from church and three cats ran from our garage. Three. One of them was orange.

This morning, we got home from church and an orange cat ran from the garage.

He's back.

We are at a loss on what to do at this point.

My hope is to catch him, fix him, and pray his aggression goes away.

Brian's plan involves a gun.

Surely we will come to a compromise.