Hello internet. I don't think you've yet had the pleasure of meeting the youngest of our fur-children. This is Mr. Katz. Oliver Katz. He's Chinese. Though, he's forgotten most of his native tongue, what with being an orphan and all. He now speaks English and Swiss German, but no Japanese yet. He's not put much effort into his studies.
Oliver was found as a wee little mewing thing, eyes barely open, in a Shanghai garbage can, covered in worms and sores and mange. He was nursed back to health by a wonderful Canadian couple and then we adopted him.
I tell you, this boy is a darling. Kind and gentle, and soft and cuddly. He loves tuna. And cat grass. And sun on the balcony. And cuddles. And couch sitting. And soft bellies for kneading paws.
He hates strangers. A lot. And outside Oliver, his doppelgänger-nemesis. He's a tad neurotic (i.e. probably needs to be on cat Zoloft) and, so, the transition from being our youngest - our furry baby -to middle child when Stella came along was a tough one for Mr. O.
But he has learned, after about four months of hiding in his cave, that attention from the baby is still attention. Cuddles from the baby are still cuddles. And there is a fairly strong chance that baby cuddles will lead to mama cuddles. So he tolerated the snotty baby kisses, the tail pulls, the clumsy attempts at brushing. And in fact grew to adore this new little person, so hungry to love him and hold him, and cuddle him, and brush him.
Sometimes, when he's feeling especially affectionate, he jumps into my lap when I'm nursing Stella, and nestles down into the crook of my arm for a triple snuggle. I told you he's a darling.