Back when I first joined the company, we had this big project pow-wow. I was so far in the cheap seats, I might as well have been invisible.

So, I pulled a Houdini and disappeared.

The hotel they picked for the meeting was way too swanky to waste cooped up inside.

While I was stretching my legs in the hotel's backyard, who do I bump into but Happy - though I didn't know his name then.

But I could tell he was a Garfield cat. Not exactly Walmart prices, if you know what I mean.

I'm thinking, "How'd this bougie cat end up on the streets? What soap opera twist brought him here?" Poor little guy.

I squat down and call him over. He comes waddling up, all jiggly, and starts rubbing his head on my hand like we're long-lost pals.

Figuring he's hungry, I scoop him up and grab the cheapest hot dog I can find to feed him.

I'm barely halfway through when someone barks, "What are you feeding him?"

This guy tries to grab the cat, but Happy goes all Wolverine on him, swipes at his hand, and leaps into my arms.

The guy looks stunned. "That's my cat."

"Could've fooled me!"

"Check his collar. Happy Black."

Well, I'll be darned!

I hand the cat back and offer him the rest of the hot dog.

He turns his nose up at it. "Happy doesn't eat that stuff."

I glance at the half-eaten hot dog, then at Happy, who looks like he just hit the kitty jackpot, tongue practically licking his eyeballs. I shrug. His loss.

That night at the fancy-pants dinner, the big boss gets up to make a toast.

I drop my chopsticks like they're hot potatoes and forget to chew the lobster stuffed in my mouth.