Pitty Pet will claw you if you dare suggest his name is undignified. He was named by A.'s elderly grandmother, who cared for him like an infant. When she was alive, she used to tuck Pitty Pet into bed with her at night, pulling the covers up under his chin and making sure he had his very own hot water bottle. Pitty's life has been pretty much downhill ever since then. Now he spends his time skulking around, looking for food and the warmest place to take a nap. Much like me, as a matter of fact.
Pitty is also A.'s extra-special friend. A. doesn't like it when I point out how disgustingly fat Pitty is, holy Lord. Once Pitty jumps on A.'s lap, A. won't get up for anything other than the direst emergency (like getting another beer) and then he apologizes profusely to the cat for the disturbance. I do not share his guilt about disturbing the cat, however, and spend most of the winter booting Pitty off my chair by the woodstove.
James is the new addition to the cattery. The MiL took him from her mother's barn when he was a kitten. He still behaves like a barn cat, too. He jumps on counters looking for food, eats anything that comes his way, and hunts outside all night long. He is also apparently the product of some Deliverance-type inbreeding, since he has an extra toe on each foot. He is very affectionate, however, which means he likes to lick if you're petting him. There are few things more unappealing than the texture of a cat's tongue, though, which is why I don't pet James much. Also, his fur is pretty long, and he gets dreds in it sometimes. Then he yanks them out when he's grooming, leaving hanks of fur on every seat. Charming.
Pitty Pet loathed James in the beginning. And then, we had James, uh, "fixed," and Pitty took to James like a long-lost brother. They play now, and in winter, they share the chair by the fire, which is cute until I want to sit there and find it totally covered with clumps of cat hair.
So there you have it--Pitty Pet and James, the dynamic duo. Next up: the lovebirds.