Get your minds out of the gutter now.
I was referring to George, my cat.
My big, fat, lovable, hateful, cuddly, bipolar, dog-like, couch-wrecking, sweet, funny, 23-pound cat.
We have an odd relationship, George and I.
I feed him, he abuses me.
I rough house with him, he cuddles up and purrs.
I really think he has multiple personalities.
He showed up at the front door one day about 7 years ago and made himself at home.
He's not fat, he's just big-boned. OK. He's fat. But he is also taller and longer than most cats.
He's afraid of loud music, especially classical music.
He's afraid of the tea-kettle whistle.
He's afraid of the throw rugs, but only in the kitchen.
He can open doors if they have handles instead of knobs.
He prefers dry food to wet food.
He also goes by the names Fatty, Jorge, Georgina, Georgelicious and Hey, You! Stop Biting Me!
He had surgery to remove a stone that developed in his bladder.
He has a strange fascination with my bedside lamps.
He loves to have his nose rubbed and makes a cute snorty noise when I do it.
He hates service people (cable guy, plumber, etc.)
He is a party cat, very social and flirty with the ladies.
He makes me laugh on a daily basis.
He infuriates and frustrates me on a daily basis. But I can't imagine not having him.