Growing up, I always wanted a cat. Our dogs were sweet, the parakeet was novel enough, and I loved my bunnies, but my dad's lethal cat allergy hung heavily over my life. There was no denying the cat lady within, calling to me to be let out.
So when a friend offered me a kitten a few months after I'd moved to my own place in Brooklyn, of course I accepted. My boyfriend has a cat, too, and now we are a dopey, likely sickening, fur covered family.
Meet Icarus:
Icarus is four, but has an old soul. He is an anarchist, an emotional overeater and has the loudest purr I've ever heard. He has a penchant for sitting on things, regardless of whether that be a piece of paper atop the carpet or my phone. If something is missing, it is best to look under him first. He pretends to be tough, but is all show. Him's my little Grumbledore and I cannot imagine life without him.
Meet Peter:
A connoisseur of fine cardboard, Peter has brought much enlightenment and mischief into our lives during his three years. He is widely regarded as "the cutest cat ever" by those he encounters, much to Icarus' derision. He's polydactyl, has never once hissed and allows Brian to wear him as a scarf. He plays fetch and is a giant ball of love. He really sets an unfair standard for other cats to meet.
They are good boys and I am nothing but proud of my obsessive love for them. They are sure to be a common topic here, as they are in every other forum of my life.
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