Fry

So I realized last weekend that I have yet to post anything here about the most recent member of our family.  In fact, it's been a while since I've talked about any my furry kids!  How very unlike me.

World, meet Fry.

Just ignore his crazy mutant eyes. He's a cat and can't help it.

Fry's full name is Philip K. Fry (after the infamous Philip J. Fry; the "K" stands for Kitty, duh).  His nicknames include Cat (me), Chapeaumelon (Jon), and Fatty (after Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle).  He is a 10-month-old kitten that we adopted back in January from a no-kill shelter in Seattle called Animal Talk Rescue.  Our uneducated guess is that he has some Maine Coon in him (looks), possibly Ragdoll (behavior), and rounded off with some good old fashioned tabby cat.  Also, he's maybe the cutest/sweetest cat alive.  I know a lot of people say this about their pets, but it's true.  I have never met a cat so utterly chill and cuddly than this orange ball of fluff right here.

I promise: I did not pose them like this. (And please excuse the blurriness. Pictures with no movement and demon-eyes are hard to come by.)

He absolutely adores the dogs, and they love wrestling and cuddling with him.  He's floppy and silly and kissy; he will let you do almost anything to him.  You can toss him across the couch onto one of the dogs, and he will just settle and sleep wherever he lands.

Getting a cat on top of two highly energetic dogs may not have been the smartest idea, but it was obvious from the moment that Jon moved in that he just wasn't complete without a cat around.  I had wanted a cat for Ennis, before getting Peekay, but the presence of my most favorite embroidered armchair made me hesitant.  Cats are evil and they destroy everything in their path!  But when I saw this little man advertised through the shelter's Web site, well... I couldn't help myself; he was the exact cat we'd been waiting for.

Cut to now: Fry has made my favorite chair a scratching post; he's started knocking things off of the counter/fridge for Peekay to eat or chew up; he stays up all night and plays with the blinds or our feet, and his little mouth smells infinitely of fish.  We're almost certain he has brain damage, because he sees things that aren't there and has no concept of object permanence.  He's loud, he's rude, and he doesn't listen to me when I scream "Cat!!" at him.

He's absolutely nothing but trouble, but oh my goodness he is the cutest most awesome kitty in the entire world, seriously, I could just smoosh his little face forever.  And when he's old and lazy, he will be absolutely perfect.

Happy Fry-day, everyone!  (Heh heh, yeah I did.)