I snuck back into the building with a small, purring cat stashed under my shirt.
According to said coworker, the poor thing risked life and limb to dash across a busy street and follow her into her own building. He's smoke-grey with white markings (and what look like aligning polka dots on his front legs). He purrs up a storm, tucks his head under my chin, and spent the elevator ride upstairs curling his paws around my neck. I tried to stash him in a big roomy box, but he would have none of it - he pulled himself out of the top, climbed into the chair next to my desk, and promptly fell asleep. He is, at this very moment, seated in my lap with his paws on the desk, staring at the screen as I type.
If you hadn't guessed by now, he's coming home with me. Even with the moving madness this weekend, we'll have a date with Dr. Boutros for shots, de-worming, and a thorough checkup. As of now, I've bounced between calling him "Senor Gato" and "Mr. Kitty Fantastico" throughout the course of the day.
So yeah, he'll need a new name stat.