I'm a sweet kitten. I'm almost a sweet cat, almost six months old, but you wouldn't know it to look at me. One of my nicknames is Nermal, like from the comic strip "Garfield" because I'm so cute and endearing. I love other cats. I love the dogs, even the visiting big border collie most of the cats and even the other dogs can't stand. My brother is all about Mommy. He is as old as I am, but he still sits around pretending he's a kitten nursing on Mommy whenever he can get away with it because Mommy left us to be adopted early. But if anyone else tries to pick him up, he wants to go back to Mommy. But I'm happy wherever I am. I curl up on or by whomever I am near. Even if you're a stranger, if you pick me up and rub my belly, I'll be motorized jelly in your hands, flopping and purring because you loved me. Everybody loves me because I love everybody. And I'm a particularly tiny cat with a cute, pudgy face, so you can't resist when I purr at you.
But everything changes the millisecond you bring out the turkey or the bologna or the cheese or anything I even sort of like to eat. Then I Hyde. I don't hide. I become an insane, ravening monster likely to tear through you if you stand between me and my cheese. I will claw you, bite you, take you out because you are a mere distraction on the way to devouring my prey. Most cats get interested in food. Might even steal it from you. I kill for food.
But if the food goes away, I will snuggle up to whatever I have left of you and tell you how much I love you. It's how I roll.
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