I don't think he really enjoys being our cat, but it's not really up to him, so he puts up with us... mostly.
And he looks sweet and cuddly. But I always warn people who try to touch him, "He is not a nice cat. He seems nice, until he bites you." Which is very true, until he proves me wrong and actually lets someone pet him.
Proof that he looks sweet:
"Ah, rub my belly. You know you want to."
But really, don't. He'll eat your hand off.
And now, a story for Luke:
There are two doors in the new house that seem to have faulty latches... two very important doors. The first is the door to Abby's
Every night after all the kids have said their good nights and gotten their hugs and kisses, we find Abby at the top of the basement stairs with the evil cat weaving between her legs purring.
"He won't leave me alone."
My reply, "He likes you. Let him sleep with you." (Between you and me - I'd rather he slept with her than with me.)
"No. He takes up too much space on the bed."
"But he's your brother from a kitty mother." (I use this one often when the girls are annoyed by him.)
"I don't like my kitty brother." (This is often the response I get when I use the whole "but he's your brother..." Anyway, you get the idea.)
I then have to forcibly hold him on my lap and convince him he enjoys being with me while she runs downstairs to hide from him. It's a terrible cat and mouse game where the mouse is an 11 year old girl who simply wants to sleep alone.
Now, I would just toss him in the laundry room and close the door. But this is the other door which does not latch properly.
We discovered this approximately on the second morning we moved in - which just so happens to be the second time we tossed him in there at 5:30 in the morning.
The evil cat would prefer we wake up at 5:30. We would prefer not to wake up at 5:30. But every morning, starting very near to 5:30, he begins "chirping." I don't know if there is really a word for the sound he makes, but it sounds like a chirp mixed with a rolling of the tongue with a question mark at the end. Some are short, some are long. Chirp? Chirrppp? At some point, I begin to believe Timmy has fallen down a well somewhere and our (evil) cat has taken it upon himself to let us know. Chirp?
If the chirping fails to get our attention, his next line of attack is scratching the carpet. Oh how I rue the day we decided we didn't have enough money to take out his claws. Looking back, it would have been worth a dry month or two (or three - hey, we're not that bad). It is usually at this point that the Butcher fast-balls a pillow at him - or - one of us gets out of bed to try to catch him and throw him in a locked room.
So on the second morning after we moved in, after the chirping and the scratching and the pillow throwing (and if all else fails, he likes to sit on your chest and "touch" your face with his paws), I scooped him up and crept down the stairs... and down the second set of stairs... to the laundry room where I did the toss-and-close-the-door-with-great-speed-but-very-quietly. Slowly I made my way up the first set of stairs. Slowly I made my way up the second set of stairs. Slowly I climbed into bed and adjusted all the covers just so (and this could truly be a post all to itself...) and began to drift... off... to.... sleeee
RIGHT NEXT TO THE BED!!!
And then I was reminded of this terrible song my little brother used to love to play on his record player and that my mother had the brilliance to put on a cassette for our two day drive to West Virginia one summer (and therefor two days back to Michigan)... "But the cat came back the very next day, yes the cat came back the very next day..."
And there is my story for Luke... hope you like it little brother.