No household is complete without a cat. We have three.
Stella is the princess. She is, shall we say, pleasingly pear-shaped. She puts up with the others, but has always given us the impression that she would have done quite well as an only cat. She likes to cling to kneecaps, and sleeps on a special shelf under the cookbooks that we have left empty for her, right in front of a heat vent. She may be a bit spoiled.
The golden fuzzy-wuzzy is Griffin, which means “red-haired boy” in Irish. He’s my faithful attendant, following me around the house, sitting at my feet and staring upwards, and hanging out on the kitchen stool by the cutting board while I cook. He also is very fond of the bathroom sink.
Mickey (short for McGregor) is the youngest, the tallest, and the skinniest of the kitties. He loves his food, but stampeding around the house every morning like a herd of elephants seems to keep him quite slim. He is Jon’s personal cat. They like to do morning Sudoku together (i.e. Jon tries to read the numbers through Mickey’s head). It’s cute.
Sometimes they help on the computer, too.
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