Fozzy the cat

When we got our cat Fozzy, he was terrified of us, terrified of where we lived, terrified of the other cats. I think. I don’t exactly remember. He was sweet when we met him, but he’s had some really unpleasant things happen to him. We think. He’s scared of brooms. He’s scared of not getting fed. Sometime in the last couple years, he started spending the night with us, snuggling up, purring away. Now when he doesn’t come in or doesn’t come up to snuggle, I can’t sleep right. He’s the third cat we got and maybe the one I least expected to bond with. He’s got a lot of fur and one of the reasons I never wanted cats was because of the fur getting everywhere. It does get everywhere but not in the way I expected. I thought it’d cover every surface, getting in my way. Instead it’s just like having dust bunnies who procreate like real bunnies, which is more than tolerable. The thing I love about rats is their intelligence and how well it suits human intelligence. Cats don’t have that same kind of intelligence or sweetness. They’ve got a whole other kind. Different, not better, but still rewarding. I don’t think I ever would have expected to feel that way about cats. They’re kind of like vampires, only they’re the ones who have to invite you in. And they’re bloodthirsty fiends. Just cute, warm blooded ones.

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