Mr. Kitty

Cats once barged into my life. Being of the canine persuasion, I was at first skeptical, and through the ordeal, have learned that it is just cats I don't personally mold with canidae personalities that wreak havoc. There were four cats. Originally, three. I cared not of their names but residing in my domicile they eventually acquired new nomenclature. There was Hitler, who had the stache of a diabolic mastermind. Or who can forget Grampa Ears, with white tufts jutting from the side of her head. My least favorite, Heat Cat, was the first and worst to go into heat. We didn't get along. But then there was Tiniest. Tiniest Kitten. Or Tiny S as he was also called. Ironically, he became the fattest.