Fat Felines

In my last post, I mentioned my cats. Assuming that people who I do not know are reading this, you haven't seen my cats, you don't know their stories and you haven't been bitten by any of them.

So there's Philly, the model who eventually becomes a recluse. I don't have any pictures of her that make her look very model-like, but that's because she's hardly ever at home to be photographed without too much effort. She is, in a way, the bandit queen of the area, but she looks a bit like Nigella Lawson.

  Of course, at times, she looks like a cow.

Then there's Broccoli. We made a connection when she was born. There's so much to say about her, but I honestly can't put it into words. She's just the best, and I dread that one day she's not going to be here to be my little baby kitten. 

Now Fenny. He's got something against me (or for me? Whatever?). For some reason, he thinks it's necessary to bound right across the hall and bite my legs. He's ridiculously cute, but he never stops biting. You want to pet him, he bites; You want to carry him, he bites; You want to chuck him off the balcony, he bites. Then there's eating. You wake him up, he's hungry; You want to play with him, he's hungry; You want to chuck him off the balcony, he's hungry. He'd be a very fat conman, I can tell you that.
He also has a big butt. Like really large.

So, regrettably I can't ship Fenny off to wherever you live, and have him bite you, but at least you know what sort of vicious beasts I have to deal with. Except Brocci. I've made her sound like an Elven Princess.