#tabby road

In the old days, back when you had all four: 

Paul: Lap-cat. 

You bought him from a farm, and he does seem to enjoy the outdoors, but is happy most anywhere. He coos a lot. Grooms himself more than the other three put together, and loves attention. Despite his soft demeanor, he’s surprisingly territorial, and gets into lots of scuffles with the other cats, mainly John. 

John: The asshole cat. 

Responsible for the majority of scratched up furniture and objects knocked off counters. And yet, he’s such a fun and playful cat when he’s not destroying things, you just can’t get rid of him. Given that you adopted him from an abusive family of hoarders, it’s understandable why he’s got some problems. 

George: Mellow cat.

This main coon just padded slowly into your house one day, and never left. He is a big walking rug, with long scraggly fur and wild teeth, but his personality couldn’t be less matched to his appearance. He likes to lay sprawled across the floor, where you need to walk. Purrs loudly, and otherwise makes very little noise, bar an occasional low, raspy mew. But he’s a sneaky f*cker, causing almost as much mischief as John, especially in the garden and house plants. He’s prone to tasting random objects. 

Ringo: The cat with his head stuck in the popcorn bag.

Ringo’s your little Inernet star(r). He’s the jumpy eccentric feline who runs up the chimney and gets trapped in the most bizarre places. He’s terrified of cucumbers, but loves to eat other vegetables. You’re constantly taking him to the vet, and have to check the laundry machine or dishwasher before turning it on to make sure he hasn’t gotten himself trapped inside again. Try to pick him up, he’ll often nip and dash away, only to return later when you’re in the middle of something to leap onto you and start licking your face. 

The cats now: 

Sadly, you only have two left now. John was shot by a sick delinquent kid with a shotgun (that kid is now in jail, for a string of violent offenses, against humans). George lasted longer; but you didn’t know his medical history, since he was a stray; a mystery illness cropped up, and you lost him around age 12 or 13. 

Paul and Ringo are still doing great, and almost seem to have flipped personalities. Paul is less active and social now, though he will sometimes come strolling out of hiding if everyone is in the living room. When the kids come over, Ringo is the cat who comes trotting up immediately; if they want to see “the other cat,” they have to go to one of the dark bedrooms where they’ll find him curled up on a bed, but willing to receive pets and cuddles. 

Ringo is unnaturally active for his age, and no one can believe that cat’s almost 20. He often loves attention, but no longer tolerates being picked up; he prefers head-butts. He likes to perch himself on top of the TV or the back of the sofa, and continues to explore places you normally wouldn’t expect to find an old cat. 

There is that one killjoy in the family who insists that Paul was hit by a car decades ago, and that this “Paul” is a replacement. No one pays him much mind, though.