I am a one-year old cat, enjoying indoor life in the apartment on the horse ranch. I am private, solitary, and high-minded but I do occasionally enjoy playing with my rambunctious, athletic brother, and to a lesser extent, my grumpy older sister.
Don't expect to see me if you visit, I disappear like smoke when I hear the downstairs door slam. Unless it is Beth, in which case I sit pertly near the door, looking regal, and not at all expectant. I am not skittish, no, I do not skit. Instead, I enjoy long naps in the laundry bag and a good tossing around of the milk ring. I will admit [cough] that I er, become somewhat excitable when the cardinals feed at the feeder in the morning. I like that. Indeed I do.
Beth calls me "Squeaker" sometimes, on account of my meow sounding like a rubber duck squeak toy. I really become vexed when she does that. So in retaliation I toss the milk ring under the fridge, look plaintively at her, and "squeak," which prompts her to get up immediately, go into the bedroom and find the stick toy, come back into the kitchen, kneel down, and fish for it. Sometimes this involves moving furniture. I enjoy this show very much and I play it in direct proportion to the amount of times she calls me that odious name.
So that's me, Bert.