My family got the first two cats, named 72 (after 72% cacao dark chocolate) and Tuxie (short for tuxedo), from an empty lot on our morning coffee walk. We were helping the guy who feeds them to get them fixed because he was practically up to his ears in cats. He let us have the two kittens because he was having a hard time taking care of them because his eyesight is bad. When we got them, they were a mess. I helped hold them while my dad gave them baths because they were so dirty. They weren't too happy about that. We had to give them multiple baths because they were too small for flea medicine. They bore us no ill will for that, and now they just spend most of their time lying around on the armchairs in our living room unless they decide to pester me at my laptop or start climbing on the dining room table (which they are not allowed to do) because they think it's time for lunch even though it's only 10 AM.

We got our third cat, Nimbus, from a neighbor who heard that we were looking for cats. He told us that he had a very friendly kitten, so we decided to adopt him. Dad named him Nimbus because he thinks the cat looks like a little grey cloud. He is blueish-grey with a few white patches. I wanted to name him Strider or Gandalf or something from Lord of the Rings, but Nimbus stuck. He is a very loving cat, and his favorite pastime besides napping in laundry baskets and galloping around the house like a maniac is pestering everyone. I am convinced that he is a nutcase. At least he is a nutcase who purrs. Yes, I like talking about my cats. I will stop now.