My cat

This is my cat.

His name is Dusty, and he is nearly eighteen years old. An aquaintance of ours who lacks social skills told my daughter that he is "as old as cats can get" and will die soon. But I do not think this likely. Whenever we take him to the vet, she is stunned by his health and vigour. She couldn't believe he was even ten years old, let alone eighteen.

He's a character. This morning he was running back and forth in the living room, chasing something he made up in his own head, I guess - there was nothing there. He likes to sit on the kitchen table, a bad habit we allow him to indulge in other than when we are eating dinner. He likes to drink water from a bowl full of seashells on the balcony. I have not figured out why. When you get out of the shower, he goes right in, and chases the water down the drain with his paw.

My wife has long wanted a dog after the cat. This last weekend I remarked that the damn cat was "going to live forever." She kind of sighed and said, "probably." She was kidding of course.

She loves that cat. :-)