Just who is Horatio T. Kitty?

I was feeling unwell today- not well enough stay in bed all day, but unwell enough that the prospect of curling up on the couch was far more appealing than being in the office. The problem with working from home is, the guilt is too great. So I tried to balance the two. Horatio was in his standard napping position, as seen above; at first, he was annoyed by my presence, but then he seemed concerned. I told him my troubles and he gave me a supportive pat on the hand. He offered to tell me a story; I gladly accepted. I have no idea if any of the following is true (as cats are well known for their stretchings of truths), but I'll let you decide for yourself.

We've always wondered why Horatio gets so wound up as we are going to bed, yet takes no notice of us as he naps through the day. It turns out, he's no ordinary cat. No, at night, he becomes El Gato Misterioso, famed forensic accountant!

You might say to yourself, as I did, "Wait, forensic accounting has always seemed to be a pretty boring job. And why would he be doing it at night?" It turns out, the public perception of forensic accounting is nothing but a clever ruse. The real job is as dangerous as 007, as hair raising as a ride at Rocky Point, and as cool as Shaft.

Horatio told me about the night when he discovered that Enron's dirty little secret. He was sneaking around their accountants' headquarters, doing a routine check on their SEC compliance work, when he came upon a room filled with triple-cut shreddings. Never one to turn down a good time, he began to dart around the room, diving and rolling in the shreddings, as he is wont to do. He was cleaning himself of the paper afterwards when he realized that he was standing on an unsteady pile of as yet unshredded reports. And right on top, he found the evidence that the books had indeed been cooked.

At just that moment, several three ring binders lalden with 10-K backup came flying through the air, and Horatio had to duck out of the way. Papers went flying everywhere as the pile he had been sitting on collapsed to the ground. He bolted past the late shift accountants who were trying to grab him, and darted out the fire escape door just as the staples began to fly through the air. He then stopped at a ladyfriend's house on the way home, but discretion forbade him from giving me the full scoop on that.

I was shocked, to say the least. First, that my opinion of forensic accountants had been changed so dramatically, and second, that my cat, my dear friend, was engaged in such a high stakes game of, um, cat and mouse? Whatever you want to call it, I begged him to be careful; to wear those little nubby finger things when turning pages so as to avoid paper cuts; to wear a staple proof vest; to do everything possible to keep harm from befalling him. But he would hear none of it. For the life of El Gato Misterioso is one of living on the edge; because that is the only place to find the evildoers.....

To be continued???

(thanks, gladcow. ;))