my mom always had cats, but i never really had a relationship with any of them. just always been a dog person. then a couple years ago when my mom’s cat died she said she wanted to get an orange cat like the one she had as a kid, Honeycomb. we went to the pville animal shelter, and sure enough they had a two year old orange cat that had been living on the streets its entire life. we brought him home and named him Jazz, after Jazz Chisholm, your most racist friend’s least favorite baseball player (lol).
Jazz is awesome. he *loves* the home/kingdom we’ve given him. he gets to be inside whenever he wants, he’s best friends with our dog (although he’s still pretty sad about the recent death of our other dog 😢), and yet he still gets to roam around outside, hunting, killing, and eating everything from mice to rabbits. sometimes he comes home and you can tell he’s been in a fight, and he just licks his wounds, and has this aura about him that says, “you should see the other guy.” he might be involved in some sort of cat fight club, i’m not sure, he refuses to talk about it.
anyway, i never imagined myself being a cat owner, but Jazz is just too badass not to love. he’s the warrior in that old saying, “it’s better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war.” he’s got a home now, but he’ll always be a certified g. love this guy.