My sister's 25 pound HolsteinFriesian cat is called "Mister" (not really, but I'm trying to protect his identity). Ever have a 25 pound cat land on your bladder in the middle of the night? You can imagine. Anyway, Mister has been having some urinary problems of his own recently so I've got to be nice to him. This pic doesn't really reflect his magnitude. Trust me. It's a BIG floor there.
He thinks I'm a toy. See, we usually have playtime about 6:30 each morning and I chase him all around the apartment and if you haven't seen a 25-pound cat racing around at that hour his belly slinging about a foot to port then to starboard you are really missing out! When he's not at his food bowl and I'm not chasing him, he is on his back. What a sleaze.
So here I am trying to write this blob (or, Betty suggested, "bog" - I like that - something so thick and oozy you have to get rescued from it) and this cat thinks I should be playing. I'll get him!
Okay, his real name is Pip but don't expect him to acknowledge you when you call him by his name -- unless he wants food (which is about 24/7, not unlike me). I still call him "Mister" most of the time, since Pip usually means someone small. End of story for now - except for a photo. Yep, he gets any royalties.