I love animals. I always have, and I always will. There has not been a day in my life that I haven’t had some form of an animal. I’ve had various types throughout my days, including snakes, hamsters, goats, dogs, rabbits, and even gerbils.
However, I will always have a special place in my heart for all of my cats.
My past family went through cats like used toys. The Maxwell members would run over my cats during my childhood into early adolescence. It honestly almost became a routine; my mother would sit me down, because she was the only one who cared about the cats like I do, and I would ask which cat. We would proceed with our mourning, the Maxwell members giving no thought to the creature they killed and focusing more on my “unhappiness.”
Anyway, my current cats are one of the small joys that keep me going. I have four, all boys, oddly enough.
The first two cats are Prozac and Sue. Prozac came with that name, and he actually needs some. He acts like an old lady, always yelling at no one in particular about his being alone or just in another room from you.
Sue was named after the great Johnny Cash’s A Boy Named Sue and A Man in Black. Ergo, Sue is the black one, and Prozac is the gray one.
Sue is very alien-like. What I mean by that is he watches our movements and actions as if he wants to perform them for himself to somehow help conquer the world. He also gets on the counter and table and knocks things over to receive some form of attention from my mother. He’s somehow her favorite, despite being the one who messes up everything and makes himself look innocent when picking fights with the other cats.
Next is Vincent. He is actually quite large, it’s not just the picture. My dad had him before he moved in with us. His new landlord didn’t approve of the cats he was oddly enough keeping for someone else, so he was soon after evicted. You know a man is a keeper when he brings his own cat when he moves in with you.
Sorry for the random side notes, they just happen.
Vincent is about 10 years old, and he is always grumpy. My dad had him since he was a newborn kitten, and he grew up with a Labrador as a friend. He is quite dog-like, often charging at people who ignore him. He can be cuddly every blue moon or so, especially with my dad in his man-chair.
Finally, there’s Butters. He is basically younger Simba from Lion King. We actually got Butters from the local animal shelter in hopes of getting a different cat named Sherlock. Not that I don’t love Butters with all of my being, but how perfect it would have been to have that beautifully-named cat. -heavy sigh.
Butters is an orange-creamy tabby who can go from super cuddly to “I wanna bite your fingers off for play time” within minutes. He is your typical kitten, playing and cuddling and biting everything. He is so very cute, and I may just take him with me whenever I move out for good. He makes this adorable chirping noise when he is sleepy and/or being messed with while trying to sleep.
This is said noise with my friend Hillary in the background.
To all the cats who couldn’t be in this post, you are fondly remembered and I’ll love you all until I join you someday.
Then you all can go back to ignoring me until I feed and/or pet you.
*all photos and video taken by me, except the last one being taken by my mum