A story about a cat and a man who lost his woman, so why should he go to church?

He was a quick-witted guy, or wait, was he a cat? I can't remember. He walked into the bar, the one right on the corner of Crosby and Spring St. Or was it a cafe? bistro? Again, I can't remember. His claws were sharp, just like his mind. I liked his coat, I admired it. He sat down at the stool furthest from the door. Furthest from me. You know, I like sitting closest to the door. A quick escape, just incase things go south. I was quite the troublemaker after all. I mean trouble liked to follow me, or I guess I could find it pretty easily. Whatever. He orders his usual. Jack on the rocks. Classic. It was 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon. He turns towards me. I avoid his gaze. He's sharp remember, I don't like making eye contact with those types. He could probably read me with a quick glance. I don't like it one bit. Yuck. I had a hundred dollars in my pocket. Every last cent for her. She never showed up, and I went home frustrated. As usual. The cat left soon after me, He never finished his drink, his coat drapped against the dirty sidewalk, that bothers me. I skipped church, evening service. What's even the point? She never showed, so why should I repent my sins? All I did today was drink, sounds pretty holy to me. I spend my night watching cable, I like it when the news comes on. The lady anchor reminds me of her, boy is she a looker. But it's not enough. I go to sleep. Frustrated. Im sure that cat slept like a fucking baby. Wait, I should say a kitten. Haha.