I own a total of six cats. The four at my mom's house are Marmalade, Moo, Mew, and Lyric, while the two at my dad's house are Peter and Piper.
Marmalade is a fat orange fuck with an eating disorder. He is a ginger, with darker stripes running up his back. He has a pale pink nose, and small, forest eyes. He was a stray as a kitten, and for whatever reason, that led to him developing issues with food insecurity. When we first got him, we had food available at all times for all the cats. This led to Marmalade eating until he'd get sick, and eventually, he became super overweight. As a result, we got automatic feeders, which feed the cats a tablespoon-amount of food six times a day. This adds up to a total of 3/13ths of a cup, which is a little less than the daily recommended amount of food for cats to eat. To make up for this deficit, each of our four cats are given a small portion of wet food at night, as a treat. Marmalade specifically is especially aggressive when it comes to food. He will hop up on counters, bat at hands, and shove himself into your face until he gets what he wants. His desperation is so great, that he is willing to be held, cuddled, and pet, all in the name of getting a few extra pellets of kibble. The funniest thing about Marmalade is that he is incapable of meowing. Instead, he will coo and purr to communicate his wants. I often compare him to a fat, ugly, mostly-bald pigeon. Marmalade doesn't particularly enjoy being pet, despite his tolerance for it. Instead, he prefers being brushed with a grooming mitten. This is especially odd, considering he is very bald from, what we assume is, stress-induced hair loss caused by separation anxiety.
Moo is a gorgeous, neurotic, long-haired spotted cat. He has snow-white fur, which is speckled with dark grey patches. Like Marmalade, we picked Moo up as a kitten. Instead of food issues, though, Moo as unusual amounts of anxiety towards every action performed around him, ever. Oftentimes, Moo will hide in the basement or beneath the piano. He may occasionally come out for food, but at the slightest noise, he will bolt back to his safe spots to hide. Moo enjoys affection occasionally, though only from specific people, and only in the basement. Petting him is only permissible if he approaches first. Weirdly, despite being the most reclusive of my cats, Moo is by far the most vocal. If he needs something, he will scream, and yowl, and hiss, until it is delivered. In addition, in recent months, he's begun to stand around in common areas. Not for attention, nor for food; in fact, any attempt to deliver these things will result in him bolting. He simply sits in the middle of pathways and watches, silently observing as the rest of the family goes about their business. My mom's theory is that he gets lonely. He may not like direct attention, sure, but he still wants to spend time with us. Being alone in the cold, dark basement gets tiring after a while, surely. It's his way of showing he loves us, and trusts us to some degree. When he does want to be pet, Moo enjoys being scratched and patted roughly. He especially loves having his belly rubbed. After any petting session, my clothes always end up absolutely smothered in hair from all the rolling around and rubbing-his-face-on-stuff he does. Despite the annoyance it is to clean up, it is a fine price to pay for kitty snuggle time.
Unlike the rest of my cats, Mew is old, and was adopted as an adult. He is a fairly standard male tabby, with deep lime eyes. His ear has a small chip in it, which, as I've learned, indicates he is a spayed cat meant to be left outside as a community cat. My step-dad says that, for a while, it was true that Mew was an outdoor cat. One which he used to feed on a fairly regular basis. However, on two occasions Mew had ended up stuck in a tree, and needed rescuing. Because Mew was old, and because it was winter, my step-dad feared that leaving him outside any longer might result in him getting hurt or dying due to the cold. As a result, he took Mew inside, and he's been an indoor cat ever since. Mew, unlike every other cat, is relatively normal. He enjoys laying around, batting at toy mice, and on occasion, hopping in a pet-stroller to spend some time outside. The only real quirk of his is his noises. Mew, as his name implies, can only mew. This limitation in his vocalizations contrasts starkly with his rigid appearance. Despite the lack of sound he's able to produce, he is incredibly social and talkative. There have been several occasions where I'd talk to him, and he'd meowl back to me over and over again, as if we were having an actual conversation. He has an incredibly sweet personality, and is by far one of my favorites.
Lyric is the only one of my mom's cats who is not lifted straight from the outdoors. Instead, we got him from a shelter. He is a light grey tuxedo, with pale green eyes. As you could probably guess, Lyric also has a weird set of vocalizations. Unlike every other cat, Lyric is completely mute. He does not purr, he does not yowl, he does not squeak. Instead, he is completely silent. Lyric's expression is only defined by his facial expressions, of which he has many. The faces he makes are actually some of my favorite. For me, at least, it's far easier to tell what he's thinking than any other cats. Lyric has mastered the art of staring at people like they're crazy, and giving people the side eye for acting stupid. I'm partially convinced he has a human soul, just from how expressive and aware he seems. It's unnatural. Lyric is also by far my most social cat. He enjoys being held, pet, and cuddled. I've come to learn that his favorite way to be held is slung over my shoulder, as it allows him to see everything from far up while I walk around. Sometimes, as a treat, I carry him and take him outside so he can smell the fresh air and watch the birds.
Peter and Piper are the two cats I know the least about, as I spend the least amount of time with them. Piper, from what I know, is incredibly social. She sits on the table, mews, and rolls around any time anyone comes near her. My step-mom tells me that it's because she's nosy. The kitchen, after all, is where the most things happen. Conversations, meals, what have you. Peter, on the other hand, is quite reclusive. From what I'm told, he's supposedly very friendly and sweet. Me and him hardly interact though, besides from brief attempts to talk to him and occasionally feed him treats. He is weird, and seemingly very tempramental about who pays attention to him. Everybody else is allowed to touch him and carry him all they want. However, when it comes to me, and for some reason my Dad's best friend, he will hiss and complain at any contact. By this point, me and him have a mutually established relationship of distaste. I do not like him, and he does not like me. We do not interact, and we do not come near each other, except for when he wants to fuss at me until I give him treats. This is fine. After all, I have five other cats who enjoy my attention, and he has seven other family members to pay him theirs.
blahblah im bored and done GOOD NIGHT!
