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I have a 25 pound giant orange kitty named Tomb Bomb. (Pronounced Tom Bomb) He adopted me one day, long ago, for reasons I have yet to understand. Never really was a cat person, until he came along. He is rusty orange, with darker stripes and spots, and strange glittering golden eyes. He is getting up there in age, and, spends a vast amount of time in my lap while I am at the computer or snoozing on the bed with the fox who also shares my household.
I owe an awful lot to my cat. I have problems with circulation in my legs, my doctors say my fat orange kitty in my lap all the time rewarms the blood heading down to my legs and has probably saved me a lot of grief.
Never cared for cats much before, finding them rather aloof, rude, and a rather poor attitude about a relationship. Tomb Bomb, on the other hand, is a very different sort of cat. If I am gone, he refuses to eat. Nobody can feed him but me. He will cry and cauterwail endlessly until my return. He is probably the most faithful creature I have had the honour of sharing my life with.
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