My life is ruled by a 20 pound cat born in a lawn mower repair shop in Farmville.
He’s a purring maniac in tiger-striped clothing.
Every night, we put all his toys in a basket. Any every morning, his four stuffed chickens are upstairs in the bedroom and on his blanket. Some were tucked in last night. It’s like they’re action figures and he’s got an intricate game going on involving a chicken farm.
He has a really ugly stuffed toy we call his “baby”. His first night here, toy clutched tightly between his teeth, he used his needle-sharp baby claws to scale the side of the bed as if it were Mount Everest, depositing the toy on the bed. It’s his favorite. The little buggy orange glass eyes on the furry black toy scared the heck out of me this morning as they glared up at my from a corner of the dining room. This picture is 8 week old Pierre with the toy in his mouth. Can you see the orange eye of that thing glaring at you? No wonder I jumped a mile.
His favorite perch is on the printer in my office, where he peers over my shoulder as if reading what I type. “No, wait – that’s not right. My name isn’t Pierre. It’s KING Pierre.”
That’s what I get for adopting a cat!
I’m not sure, but I think “King Pierre” adopted you. *chuckle*
Hi Keewee – yes, it seems as if Pierre was meant to be part of the family. He was only 6 weeks old that day we answered the ad in the paper and went to Mr. Dunkley’s lawn mower repair shop. Pierre jaunted out from behind the door, all 2 pounds of gray fluff, and promptly bit my husband. Hubby just had to have him. I let him pick out the kitten. Pierre was so tiny when we got him, I was afraid to play with him – it was as if he could break in two! Now he’s 20 pounds and breaking MY things LOL!
Thanks for posting, it is good to see you again 🙂