No, no, not that pussy. I mean this one:
This is Phurball, who is probably the most good-natured animal in the world. I’ve had him for about fourteen years, and I think he was a bit less than a year old when I got him.
A friend of mine gave Phurball to me. Someone had, while driving past his house, flung a cat out their car window. Fortunately the cat was unhurt by its involuntary attempt at flight, and Ed picked him up and took him in. At the time he already had two dogs and five cats, and his wife said “absolutely no way.”
Ed knew I was currently catless, love cats, and would take good care of one. So he offered me the foundling. I brought the cat home in a cardboard box—by the time I had reached my apartment he’d almost clawed his way out—and he settled right in with me.
At the time he had that gangly, gawky look of adolescent animals; my theory has always been that he had outgrown the cute-and-cuddly stage of kittenhood and that was why the people had decided they didn’t want him any more. Their loss, though; he’s one of the sweetest, most even-tempered cats I’ve ever known. He’s been with us through my marriage, the birth of both children, and five moves, and has helped to teach the kids how to relate to animals.
All in all, one of the best cats. Of course, I’m biased.
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