The little bedraggled cat stares up at us with wide, imploring eyes.

"Hey Scar, pass the tape."

"Screw you," I say abandoning my comfortable seat on the couch. I get up, go to the counter, and once I have the roll of tape in my hands, I chuck it at her as hard as I can. She smiles cheekily and catches it, seeming to swipe it out of midair.

"Thanks." She wrinkles her nose with sympathy when her eyes pass over the little kitty. "You know, we need a name for the cat."

"Let's pick two words we've just said and mesh them together."

"Tape."

"Screw."

"Tapescrew."

"You idiot. What kind of a cat name is that? Screwtape."

"Oh. Okay."

The newly dubbed Screwtape seems to sigh.