I suppose it should be mentioned that I don’t actually have a cat of my own currently. (I had one, a few years ago, but this is sad story, one that has left me too broken-hearted to comment further. Then I had that unfortunate asshole, Fred Durst the cat, but that is another story for another day.) However, my family has a cat, and what a cat it is. Cally.
Cally is one-eyed, firmly round, unfailingly affectionate, and rubs her butt on you whenever she sees fit. She is a lady. Cally is especially fond of my mother, who cares for her general maintenance, and has adopted with her a move we call The Parrot– when my mom is bent over to remove clothes from the dryer, for instance, Cally will leap upon her shoulder and move about the house in this perched position, claws sunk into her collarbone-area. (As you might imagine, the comfort of this move depends entirely on what you are wearing, something that Cally does not always seem to keep in mind.)
My very-excellent bon croissant of a brother has recently become interested in perfecting this technique, and spent this past summer trying his hand at it…with mixed results…
but eventual success.
JQ (Emma!) has many of Cally’s fine qualities (except for the butt-thing)
For instance, he is also a very proficient winker.
Cally spends much of her time getting the crust cleaned out of that vacant eye hole, watching birds from the window, and throwing up on the stairs.
Needless to say, she is the keystone of the Quinn Family.