My Cute Engineer used to know two college students. The students had a cat named Bast. Being dumb-assed Goth college kids, they used all their cookie jar money to get piercings and tattoos instead of getting the cat fixed, and one of the results was Mystery, whom you see on the left, a blond boulder of a cat who is still quite certain he’s a tiny kitten. There was a little girl in his group house who wanted a cat, so that was that.
A year went by and the kids got more piercings and the cat had another litter. One of the other house mates said “Let’s take two of the kittens.” At that point the Engineer lowered the boom and rather forcefully invited the students to bring Bast to his veterinarian and commit to a payment plan, but not before Lilly, seen here yawning, and her sister Seven had moved in.
Of course, when the group house dissolved years later, guess who ended up with all the Bast cats. And brought them here to crash on my bed.
They get along okay with Mr. Ferguson and his wife, Nickel Catmium-Ferguson. At least, they get along after the obligatory period of hissing and growling. As long as the Bast cats have a shot at food it’s all casual. Until Mystery sits on our heads.