I don't post photos of either of my cats often. No particular reason. But I took these several weeks ago and liked them because they turned out more like studio portraits than I would have previously thought. Window light, however, is the best kind of light.
This is my cat Mister. Named because when we adopted him, we'd been told that he was female. So, he obviously needed a name to make up for his bruised masculinity. These days I call him just about anything. Mister Fuzzy. Fuzzers. Pantaloons. Mister Fuzzy-Wuzzy (I have a song that goes with that one). The list could go on, but I'll stop.
He does have quite the kingly personality. He'll sit on a chair at the dinner table while we're bringing our food to the table, looking over the plate in front of him as though he expects to eat like us, too. Since he was a stray he does have a taste for people-food, and because he's thin no matter how much he eats, he does get to sample our meats and gravies.He yowls. Yoddels. Echoes in stairways and bathrooms. Knocks cups into sinks for water. Insists that my bed is merely borrowed ("Don't you see the litter? That's clearly my bed."), carries beanie babies around the house (a ducky, an orangutan, and a black bear), sprawls across my desk just as I'm starting to write, thinks brushing is a torture devised just for him, and steals my pillow from under my head whenever possible.
But it's okay. He's my fuzzy. And that spot just behind his ear? The softest fur ever.
