This is Cleo aka Slinky Kitty.
For reasons that seem obvious. The Songwriter rescued him when he was a wee spastic kitten and brought him home to me one night after band practice.
He has grown into a wee spastic cat. But he's 14, and I love him to bits when he lets me.
And this is his little, er, well, younger brother and housemate: Vincent aka Fat Cat.
The open file folder is for scale. Seriously, he has these short little legs and this cute little head that looks like a baseball perched on a furry bowling ball.
He is 7, and we also call him out PBS: Puppy-Baby-Substitute. He will lick your hand (and face, if you let him) like a dog, and will also flop back into the crook of your arm to be cradled like--you guessed it--a baby. He is like no cat either of us have ever owned, and we adore him for it.
So that's it, those are the furry residents of our little home. Warning: I am likely to post pics of them when I can't think of anything good to write.*
*amongst sci-fi/fantasy writers of my acquaintance, this process of wasting time on meaningless things when one should be writing is known as "catwaxing." Hence the tag.