When I lived in Queens, there was only one reason I kept going back to a particular bodega in the neighborhood that wasn't quite on my way home—to visit the biggest, sweetest orange cat I'd ever seen in my life. His name was Tony and he was truly a beast. He had a head the size of a cantaloup that he would ram affectionately into your shins if you gave him a crumb of attention. Bodega cats usually like find a nice cosy spot in a pile of chips, or smooshed in between twelve-packs of beer, but To…