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Sorry, Mr. Friendly

First, I guess I have to confess the transgression. I left Mr. Friendly outside all night. It was an innocent mistake, and I'm very sorry.
This morning, when I opened my kitchen door to let the dog out into the fenced yard, Mr. Friendly startled me, jumping down from the porch railing and charging inside. He let out a long stream of cat words, consisting mostly of m's, b's, and r's. My reply consisted only of o and h. Apparently, I suffered a senior moment after letting him out last night, and went to bed leaving him to face the cold. At least it wasn't one of the very bitter nights we've had recently, but certainly colder than what I'd consider good outdoor sleeping weather.

Never one to mask his emotions, Mr. Friendly took a seat on the dining room hot air register and gave me a withering glare of hostility.
Since he didn't look to be receptive to apologies right then, I made coffee and silently wallowed in guilt. How do you make it up to a cat? I briefly considered the can of solid white albacore tuna in the cupboard, but, really now, would he even know it cost more than the light chunk style?
Mr. Friendly first caught my eye in the animal shelter because of his seemingly affectionate nature. In bereavement over the loss of my beloved Taj, I went looking for a replacement. Talk about a guilt trip! The animal shelter is enough to cause anyone with even a tenth of a heart to suffer from emotional collapse. How do you casually decide, "Hmmm, yea, I think I'll pick, umm, THIS ONE, and the others can just stay here and be sentenced to death?"
He was a skinny little tiger striped guy, very animated and plaintive. He lobbied wildly for my attention as if he knew his life depended on the effectiveness of this one brief opportunity to appeal. It worked. I took him out of the cage, held him and just couldn't shove him back in and say, "Sorry, fella, you're rejected."
A note on his cage mentioned that he was found in a nearby suburb and brought in as a stray. I associate that community with good Italian food and several Italian friends, so he became Mr. Guido Friendly, but we've never been on a first name basis.
As soon as we got home, I began to see his real nature. Like a too-hasty marriage, our relationship devolved into disappointment. My daughter-in-law came to meet the new family member and he scratched her without provocation. Mr. Friendly showed himself to be a rather cranky and standoffish character. When my son's dog came to visit, filled

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