Found this kitty meowing loudly behind my house.

[Divernan]

33. That cutie is a "Ginger Tom" - notice the "M" on his forehead?

I adopted a stray, young adult ginger tom last fall (from the woods behind my house whence ALL my adopted strays originate. He has proved a very affectionate addition to the household.

Amongst humans, it has become a magnet for ridicule and discrimination.
But it turns out being ginger is actually quite cool - for cats.
New research shows ginger moggies are cat owners’ favourites, because they are perceived as friendly and lovable.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2228428/Ginger-cats-felines-tabbies-temperamental.html#ixzz32fbtRmi2
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And a cute Brit article about Ginger Toms:

Stray ginger cats: the pros and cons of taking one in
Over the past few years a succession of feral gingers have turned up on my door, from Mike 'The Wino' to moon-faced Graham

Let the ginger one in: if one turns up on your door, they could bring sunniness to your life.

It was six or seven years ago that I first witnessed a ginger cat break into my house. His name was Samson and, while "cat" was one description you might have applied to him, another, arguably more accurate one was "ginger beach ball that just happened to have a cat's head on top". Having established his identity, and that he belonged to Ruby, a lady in her 80s who lived across the road, the two of us became friends: me allowing him to steal my cats' biscuits, him allowing me to stroke him while staring up at me in a beatific, stoned kind of way. Had he been able to speak, I sense the vast majority of his sentences would have ended in the word "dude".


When Ruby died in 2009, a friend of a friend who lived several miles away adopted Samson. A strict diet followed, which, in the photos I saw, left Samson looking less like a beach ball and more like a smaller cat wearing a baggy ginger jumper. While he had been around, I had moaned a little about my extra cat food bills and feared for my armchairs and sofa – Ruby's were so violently clawed, you would be forgiven for thinking they had been slashed open in a police drugs raid – but in the year or two after he'd gone I missed him a lot. I had four cats of my own – then, after my large fluffy and intellectually challenged mancat Janet died in the winter of 2011, just three. All of whom, being either black or tabby, were either troubled and intellectual or troubled and narcissistic. I missed the "live in the moment" sunniness that you tended to get with ginger cats: their Buddhist approach to life's many stumbling blocks.

http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2013/oct/10/stray-ginger-cats-pros-cons