He showed up one day in January, cold, frightened, and alone. I couldn't stand it. I fed him. The neighbors also fed him.
I call him Morris, like the iconic cat with the descriminating taste. Doesn't really suit him, though. Picky, he ain't! I also call him Honeyboy.
This is my front door mat, the spot he has chosen as his.
Can you tell?
He is very loving, to the point where he is hard to photograph, he wants to be petted.
He is also a bit playful.
The pictures don't quite do him justice. He is, like so many of us, ummm...fat. Picture, if you will, a football covered in orange fur. Add four legs and a head. Now mentally fill that football with lead. That should do it. He is short and full, the complete oposite of Prissy, who is runway model long and thin. Perhaps I should call him Garfield.
He really wants to come live inside, but Prissy has put her foot down! So he will sleep on my door mat, or on my car, or under my bedroom window. I think we having a grand love affair.