We got into a discussion once about which famous actor our cat reminded us of. It was Oliver Reed - a handsome, dashing, brute of a boy, who could be the biggest charmer or biggest SOB you ever met, depending on his mood.
George grew up on the "mean streets" along the Jersey Shore. He was a stray who knew how to play his human marks perfectly—crashing a backyard family barbecue and spending time on each of our laps. Aww. Cute! How can we not take this little guy in?
Well, now he pretty much runs the place. He tells us when to get up, when to go to bed, when to play, and when it's time for breakfast, lunch, afternoon snacks, hors d'oeuvres, and dinner. He loves people, and will plop himself down in the middle of the biggest party to demand homage. He is the lappiest lap cat who ever demanded a lap, and will attach himself to you for hours. Seriously, hours.
George loves to be chased, and then to chase you in return. He's obsessed with bubble wrap, and enjoys lying on a big sheet we keep on the floor. Thunder and the vacuum mean nothing to him; he fears only sirens. George will rub against you, purr like a jackhammer, smother you with love, and then sink his teeth into your arm. I think it amuses him on some twisted level.
He's a grand-stander who yowls in the bathroom because he likes the acoustics. He goes nuts over olives, alternating between wanting to eat and wanting to kill them. And when you rake your fingers along the metal teeth of his cat brush, wherever he is, he will appear on your lap in under five seconds.
We love him so much it sometimes feels like our hearts will burst. Except right now, because it's 4:52 am and he just woke me up for breakfast with one of his favorite tricks - hooking his claw on my lower lip and pulling down.
Bookmarks