Pippin. That's him right above here, larger-than-life! He's my Scottish Fold cat, and turns 7 this year. His expression says it all, and as a matter of fact yes, he does rule the roost. I do not "own" this cat. I am his staff. It is my job to see to his every need, provide treats and catnip, and look the other way when he decides he would like to nap on the table, or my dresser, or any other of several "forbidden" surfaces. When he wants attention he will position himself where he can ratta-tat-tat you with his over-sized paw as you walk by. We have discussed getting a big cat-condo -- you know, one of those floor-to-ceiling jobs with platforms and secret boxes. My response is "Oh great, so now, what -- Pippin can outright just land on our heads!!?" I would fear for my safety with one of those in the house.
Anyway, as you can make out from the photo, Pippin has long hair. Long, flowing, silky silver-gray hair. And LOTS of it. Sometimes I think he puffs it out on purpose to look as fluffy as possible. That what we refer to as "Pippin's gettin' his floof on!" [That's floof like 'flewf', not 'hoof' or 'foot']. I don't know where we cat people get all these weird terms for talking about our felines. But Pippin's fur is EV.ERY.WHERE. It's impossible to keep up with, trying to clean the house. And it ranges anywhere from a few hairs packed in my luggage when I go on a trip, to great patches in the middle of the living room floor, as if a cat exploded into thin air and fur [that's when Sneeze -- another cat to be introduced at a later date -- and Pippin have a take-down wrestling match]. But the essence of Pippin fur is that it is just part of my life. And random. Maybe I will find a piece in my coffee this morning? Not out of the question. As my husband quipped, Pippin fur is the fabric of our lives. It's part of who we are because cannot escape it.
But, really, deep down......we don't want to, either.
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