For a person to belong in Brooklyn, they must have a pit-bull. And I belong in Brooklyn.

I have a pit-cat. As in, pit bull… but a cat. And her name is Bidge.

We found Bidge almost four months ago in the trash can of our former ghetto neighborhood. We were coming back from a delightful Thai food dinner in the rain when we heard the most blood-curdling screeching from across the street. Charlie pulled me over across the street, and there we find a kitty in the garbage…. Hence the name, Bidge. GAR-BIDGE. And she’s our baby. But she does the craziest things. Things a cat really shouldn’t do.

She attacks people’s feet. Sometimes I have to run from her. She barely weighs 5 pounds and I scream as she runs after me.

She waits for us by the door and meows when she sees us.

Bidge LIKES water! She dips her feet in the bathtub when there is water in it.

Get this! Bidge plays fetch. YES. She catches after things and brings them back to you

And I think to myself, “Is this what NYC stray cats do? Do they learn this from the pit-bulls walking around on the street?”

All I know is that I have a really cute cat. It might have nothing to do with Brooklyn. And it might have nothing to do with pit-bulls. But I like to think I own a tough cat.

Beats having a pit-bull.