There’s not much to be said for cats, and I say this as a cat owner.

This morning I noticed my phone wasn’t where it was supposed to be, charging on the table. Rather, it was under the table, untethered and partially charged (or partially dead, I guess).

Next to the phone was a roll of toilet paper, mutilated, as if someone had been making confetti all night long in preparation for some weekend celebration.

It was the cat, of course. The same beast has, to date, ruined one pair of glasses through similar nocturnal defiance, smashed to bits a mesquite wood fruit bowl, smashed favorite glassware and assaulted the pets of various friends.

Once, several years ago, this cat, aptly named Bad Kitty, walked up to an elderly, sleepy dog and clawed him on the nose. The dog looked up, startled and confused. The cat walked away.

In my prior life in the Mississippi Delta, I lived in a house far out in the country and one could anticipate the coming of the spring by the sudden emergence of rodent corpses on the cold kitchen floor. Such barefoot discoveries will not be missed.

I must say, the cat is a far better companion than the chickens I had. I had a small flock, three hens and a rooster.

I had a couple of bantam hens but they were given to roosting outdoors at night and they were not long for this world.

Chickens, if you don’t know, are not bright animals.

They recognize food, however, and should you be unlucky enough to attempt to eat anything in their presence—say, have an evening meal in the backyard while the chickens get let loose from their coop for a bit—there’s a good chance the chickens will assume that whatever you’re eating must be good enough for them, too.

Soon you find yourself surrounded by dimwitted birds and if you look away for a moment, you’ll find a chicken eating off your plate.

At least Bad Kitty doesn’t beg. No, she ignores you at mealtime. Preferring, instead, to wait until you’re asleep to let lose her mischief.