J.R. Weldin's a local stationers had a 19 year old gray cat, named Smokey, who spent most of his time sitting by the cash register, resting up between naps.
One day a woman claimed he'd scratched her wrist, and it had left a scar, which required plastic surgery. She sued the store.
Smokey became a cause celebre. He got a write up in people magazine, and the store doubled their business.
The case came to trial, and the judge threw it out of court.
Smokey's defense fund, to which I was a contributor, went to a local animal charity. He enjoyed celebrity status for the remainder of his fuzzy life, which wasn't long. I was scratched by his successor, a tabby named Phineas Fogge. But I was liable. I was tickling his tummy.