Once upon a time we got a cat. He was fat. And he wore no hat, no matter how many I tried to get him to wear. He does, however, wear a tuxedo, mostly because it is the pattern of his fur. He always has a pretty collar on, to pretend that it is his snazzy bow tie. His name is Rascal. Rascal is eleven years old, we got him when he was only six months old. He was cute back then. He’s just fancy these days. These aren’t bad things, they are just the way it is.
Rascal is sort of a tough cat. He has had his front claws removed, yet he can still climb up trees. He has notches in his ears, from bar fights most likely. But one thing you need to understand above all else, is that Rascal doesn’t take your crap. He spends half of his time running around outside chasing and occasionally killing small animals.
This is Rascal. Sitting atop my Blazer. His eyes are odd because of the flash, not age, don’t worry.
There is also another cat, her name is Freyja. She doesn’t get the same sort of introduction as Rascal, because she is a princess. Freyja is much younger than Rascal, she’s about two and a half years old. We got her when she was about 6 weeks old. My brother and his friends found her. She was supposed to only be fostered, but then because she’s cute (and a few other complicated reasons) we ended up with her for the long run.
Freyja is a princess, that can’t be stated enough. She’s a long hair, she has a musical meow, and she constantly needs attention, but if she doesn’t want it she will hiss at everything. Obviously, if Rascal gets something she doesn’t, she’ll cry. Especially with cat food or treats. Dear goodness.
Freyja is here looking like a sassy little thing. She clearly has a similar coloring to Rascal.
Rascal and Freyja don’t get along, Rascal was around first, this house is his. It’s not fair that a little girl cat came in and shed her long hair everywhere! But Freyja thinks everything here is hers. I mean, why else would we let her in our house?
This two house pets have had a huge part of my life, they can cheer me up even though they have no intention of doing so. They sometimes sit in the kitchen, waiting for scraps of chicken, pieces of cheese, or some other form of pampering. They can’t cook, but they try to be involved. Neither like beef, so at least they are on the same page as me, right?
I love the kitties. They don’t love each other, mostly because they are cats. I love them, though, and my family loves them. And they like some human food more than they should.