He was as cute as he was mean. He lived at my mom's art studio and when you came in he would hide behind shelves and then jump out at you last second and attack. We named him Norman.
The older he got the more ornery he got. If you tried to kiss him he did this...
|That's my mama.|
He was moody... and entertaining.
Somehow I taught Norman to bite you on the nose if you got in his face. It was a pretty fun past time. I often told friends to give him a kiss on the face just to watch them get nipped on the nose. It was mean... but hilarious.
As an adult cat he developed an odd problem in his tail... he would attack it. Not chase it, not play with it... chew it raw. My mom (being a devoted and loyal animal owner) took him to a university hours away to have him treated. Eventually the problem stopped.
Then, he lived another year... and another year... and a-n-o-t-h-e-r year. He is now 25 years old.
(and the reader gasps.)
We're rooting for ya.