A while back, I wrote about how I had four cats, and why. Well, it’s been a while, and things have changed.
I still have four cats. But different cats!
Fletcher, like his brother Caisha before him, came down with cancer, and the tumor was inoperable, so we sniffled and wept as we put him down. Now we had three: Maggie, Loki, and Celty. After a time, my wife found a kitten she adored, so we adopted him, and named him Rory. And that went okay for a while, but then Celty got sick, and she was so old there was nothing to be done. But Rory turned out to be a little asshole, even by cat standards, and clearly needed a younger cat to play with. So we got another kitten, Frankie. Frankie is adorable, but only really likes my wife–he runs whenever I come close, unless my wife is right there.
So now the cats are:
Maggie/Mòrag: Ragdoll, loves everyone.
Loki: Tuxedo cat with Russian Blue coloring, loves me and my daughter, then (maybe) my wife.
Rory: Seems to like everyone, but not as much as he likes annoying us and knocking things off counters.
Frankie: Loves my wife, loves Rory, is afraid of everyone else.