Many of you know my fat tomcat, Mr. Tinkles.   He joined me and Beast last year.  Now we’re one big happy family of three.  So Mr. Tinkles likes to sit on my pillow and sun himself in the mornings.  Sometimes, if I’m not awake, or haven’t moved over enough to make room for him, Mr. Tinkles bites me on the ear, always the right one.  He did this today, which is why I’m up writing this now.  Since I moved to the Dominion, it’s been both good and bad in that we live together in an apartment high up on the fifth floor of a five-story building.  It’s luckily high enough that Mr. Tinkles’ light isn’t blocked by the trees, which makes us both happy, because I like the sun over artificial light during the day. 

You know, the first time I saw Tinkles, he was sunning himself on the hood of my father’s car.  I was working as a dental assistant for the summer, and pulled up right beside him.  When I opened the car door, though, he ran away.  That afternoon, I saw him again.  Tinkles was hiding beside the dumpster outside my father’s dental office.  He’d been in a fight with some other creature and was bleeding now, so I took him to the vet’s and had him cleaned up.  After spending the money, I figured I’d invested enough to warrant taking him home. 

The first night Tinkles remained sedated, calm from the anesthetic; the following morning, though, he grew frantic within his new confinement.  Tinkles bit and clawed at my ankles, chased me into my bathroom.  We had a standoff of sorts, until I got the gun; it was a pink little water pistol, one I’d received as a party favor from my eight year old cousin’s pool party earlier that week.  Anyway, after Tinkles met the gun, it caused an immediate retreat.  The gun rarely comes out anymore.  He’s finally learned to be a nice kitty.