Meow.

A teeny, tiny, starving black cat was found in the wall of our garage.

Wait, what is that huge black cat sprawled out on my floor?

Yeah, it's the same cat, six weeks later.

11111111111111111111111111

It typed the above series of ones.

It subsequently got thrown outside. Not because it typed the ones. But because it then proceeded to swipe at my typing fingers, and when I pushed it away it nibbled on my hand.

Cats are like that. You really have to keep an eye on them.

They stare at you.

They stalk you.

And then, randomly, they pounce.

Ok, our cat doesn't really do that.

YET.

I have a trust issue with cats- I will chalk that up to my veterinary experience where the good majority of the cats who entered the clinic were ticked off.

But this one has one redeeming trait. Tolerance.

It doesn't really mind being lugged around by a one year old.

Or carried by the neck by the three year old, and then (oops) fallen on top of.

It provides hours of entertainment.

And the kids love it. Ok, him. The kids love him.

The cat's name is Bullet Swiper, Coch, or Dustin, depending on who you ask.