I got them as 7 week old kittens, littermate brothers.

This one turned out to be the hardest to name, but since I got him in Dec., at least 7 years ago, after a while of getting to know the little fellow I named him Slush, being that he was the color of Midwestern winter slush, and a pain in the ass. The other one, the elegant, classy (despite his chronic puking) is Nikkolai, Nikki, after a beloved book character.

This is the one that won’t let me sleep in, he just walks casually back and forth over my formerly sleeping body as if it’s all one big accident, it really is funny how innocent he pretends to be; sometimes, he just gets on the dresser and yells at me, and other times he does both, in turn.

He doesn’t let me compute in peace, and he is not shy about expressing any sort of discontent he may have with me.

My best friend will come over and ol’ Slushy will climb up on him almost immediately, park in a nice spot on Cliff’s lap, and then won’t let Cliff touch him. So Cliff tries to pet him, and Slush just tries to bite him, while sitting on Cliff’s lap. It’s become such a tradition that they both love the game, Cliff using both hands to sneak in to touch the cat, the cat using a somewhat bored but alert defense, because the cat loves the game, too. Sneak, growl, bite, move on to the next sneak.

He never once has broken any skin of mine, unlike Cliff’s vicious cat Gazer, who once sunk all four fangs into the meat of my hand between the first finger and thumb, at the kitchen table, and held on as I lifted him all the way off the table and whacked him incessantly until he (finally) let me go. Gazer is a fabulous cat, but you have to be careful about how you deal with him. I wound up with four pretty serious puncture wounds, and newfound respect for my man Stargazer.

Presenting my own semi-evil one:

Sweet and Evil

Sweet and Evil

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