Today, my sweet little kitty turns 17. Happy birthday, little boy!!
"Sweet" is all a matter of perspective. Darling little kitten, who scratched my glasses off my face when you met Cyrus.
Cuddly little guy while you cozened up to the stuffed toys. Not so much with the humans, huh, bud?
You were the big boy in the house, even when I brought Schemie home. You watched, you waited, just looking for the right time. He’s smaller. You can take him out. Right?
But he grew on you, didn’t he? Literally. And he discovered how wonderfully fun it was chasing you down the hallway. For 15 years, my recital of “leave him alone” to Schem never stopped the chasing.
After Schemie left, I realized you loved that. And you missed that. You are constantly flaunting your tail under the new needle-noses. They won’t fall for it, much to your disappointment.
Silly little, grumpy man. Keep your good health (or what we have here) and live to 30. If nothing else, than to spite every new dog I bring in. That brings you joy. :-)
Happy birthday, Smokey Bear! Roar on! I love you!!