He’s 68 years old, roughly. He’s a redhead. With hazel eyes. He can be very loving, but only when it’s on his terms. His name is Vinny. We sleep separately yet love to cuddle together in the mornings. He’s particular about his food and when he wants it. He can get whiny and demanding. And he sheds a lot.
Oh, and he’s a cat.
I inherited him from friends of mine who are moving from British Columbia to Prince Edward Island. He doesn’t like to travel. He especially doesn’t like his canine brother. And given Vinnie’s advanced age (13) he’s getting a bit cantankerous in his dotage. Car rides are NOT his thing.
So far we are getting along well. He rubs his head against me when he wants attention. If he feels he’s not getting enough attention he’ll pat me with his white paw. Then he’ll scratch a bit. Then he’ll bite.
He meows in the morning, I think he’s demanding food. He only meows when he wants food. Other than that it’s mostly disapproving looks. And yet, somehow, he knows when I’m having a rough day and he’ll sit right beside me and will allow me to pet him. He loves being brushed, he loves to nap and he loves blankets warm out of the dryer.
He dislikes being told no. He dislikes a closed door. He dislikes when I don’t understand what he’s demanding. He also dislikes strangers. And thunder. And loud noises. And dogs. We’ve been together about a month and so far so good. We’re both still alive. I’ve got a few battle wounds and he’s been cursed at, yet we are slowly settling into a comfortable rhythm.
Kind of like an old married couple. Kind of.
