I seem to have forgotten to introduce you to a friend of mine.
This is Winston.
Sir Winston for short. Winston Churchill for long.
They look nothing alike.
Winston is… a fine specimen of a feline. Superb in temperament, appearance and health.
He is also ridiculously needy, a baby of gigantic proportions, and unable to function very well away from his “mama”. (That would be me.)
He chatters incessantly (Our conversations are quite lengthy, even though I’m fairly certain he views my side of the conversation about as meaningful as Charlie Brown’s teacher’s lectures.), produces exceptionally large furballs, and sheds like a mofo. (I’m not sure why mofos would shed but, clearly they do.)
His large size is oftentimes misleading, since 90% of his body mass is made up entirely of fur. And he can get along well with just about anyone – including all manner of rodents and insects, which he seems entirely unable of harming, as he would prefer to pet them, cradle them, and sniff them.
I have yet to uncover any conspiracy by which he plots either mine or my mother’s demise (although I’m under no delusions that they are not in existence, simply not put into play yet…), and his head smells strangely of sunshine and summertime. (I lie not.)
World, meet Winston. Winston, world.