Blackie’s first photo
Doesn’t he look sophisticated? A lie. He’s still a kitten, and he doesn’t understand that he’s way too big to be worming his way onto people’s laps.
Too much excitement
And kitty drama.
My daughter moved back in with her needy, spoiled, adolescent cat. Of course Sydney has been, um, tweaked. With good reason, since Stella appropriated Sydney’s space.
Meanwhile, another cat adopted us. We named him Blackie. When he first showed up, sleeping under the rose bushes and sneaking into the garage for food, he didn’t have much personality and that seemed like a good name.
Now that he’s been fed and no longer runs when we look his way, he does have a personality. Soft-serve would have been a good name. Somehow being petted relaxes him, so that he has to run over to the lawn and make a deposit on the grass.
Or we could have called him Faucet. The cat drools when he’s petted. It’s disgusting. Long drips all over our laps. He shook his head once when my daughter was petting him, and his spittle ended up on her face. Ick, ick, ick.
