His name is Danny Boy,
but I call him "His Highness."
He came into our lives last year.
An orange and white cat.
A victim of abuse, he hid in the bushes for three days,
until he would venture out to where we were.
My mother, the one who allegedly doesn't care for cats, is his favorite: He goes to her for rubs on his neck and for occasional "people food."
Me, on the other hand, the reason he lives with us, because I fed him, what jobs did I get?? Litterbox detail and 'chauffeur" When he gets carried, I groan. (He weighs 10+ pounds.)
I call him "Houdini" He hides in the house and sometimes it is hard for us to find him.
I call him "The Flash" He can appear out of nowhere and when he decides to run, I can hardly catch him.
He is spoiled completely rotten and we love him dearly.