We have three cats, corresponding to my CF virtual pets. Tiger Lily (we simply call her Tiger for short) is a marmalade tabby, at least 12 years old, possibly a bit older. In human years, that's 65 at the minimum, so she does qualify as a senior citizen. She's not terribly old, but she seems to be feeling her age. It's hard for her to walk, and she has not been able to jump up on the furniture for a couple of years now. We help her by lifting her when she wants up. She's a bit on the fat side too. Sometimes I refer to her as Mrs. Garfield.
Alex, a tuxedo cat, is 5 1/2, or 39 in human years. Like people of that age, he is finally starting to mellow and settle down. My daughter and I raised him from a kitten, and he loves both of his mommies. He got his middle name, Irwin, in honor of the Irwin family of Australia Zoo fame. He came to live with me the very day that Steve Irwin was killed. But he already had his name, so I put the Irwin in the middle. Currently he is at my feet under the computer desk, and he usually hangs out as near me as possible. He's quite a kissy face. He seems to know when I'm stressed, and he gives me lots of sandpaper kisses. Often he will make it a special point to comfort me, even when people can't. People tend to try to reason with me. Alex knows not to even bother. He doesn't care if I'm being rational or not. He only wants to make me feel better.
Then there's little Paisley. We got her about a year and a half ago, from one of my husband's co-workers. She had been orphaned at 3 weeks old, when her cat mommy was hit by a car. The co-worker and his wife bottle fed the kittens until they were old enough to be weaned, and then found new homes for them. Paisley came with us. I thought that was just the right name for a calico. Her middle name is Ann because she's a little orphan. She was supposed to be my birthday present, but she likes hubby Mike better. When he's in the recliner watching TV, she's between his feet. When he's playing games on the computer, she's curled up in his other arm, at his chest. Yet she won't even let me hold her.
Just as well, though, since Mike needs her. Paisley had just turned a year old last May when our elderly Tuffy passed on, and Mike was crushed. No cat can replace Tuffy. Paisley has big paw prints to fill. But she's trying her best. Maybe she knows he needs the attachment, since Tiger and Alex are more drawn to me.
