There I had always imagined orange Fister to be the most gentle kind of cat and had reckoned that in his famous picture he was most likely licking milk off his nose. Now, I have come to understand that he is a minature tiger, a true wild cat, and that as likely as not he is licking the blood of some unsuspecting, poor soul who tired to corner him and who is even now on his way to the hospital.
That is one of the things I like best about cats. Unlike the thoroughly domesticated dog, the heart of a wild creature beats inside every cat, yet the cat and the human can reach across the wild barrier and become the fastest of friends but never master and slave. Knowing a good many people who would have long ago just brought out the .22 or the .410 and put an end to the lineage that spawned Fister, I commend Brandi and her man for their patience and love, even at the cost of their own blood spilled.
And Fister has my greatest admiration for ultimately being able to recognize his human friends even while keeping his wild spirit unbent - notwithstanding his sipping of an occassional cup of tea.
