Excuse me, would you like to see a picture of my cat?

There's someone I want you to meet.

In one of my articles, I said that I have a cat for whom I would happily slay Satan.

This is her:

This photo was taken immediately after I had laughed at my cat for how funny her face looked as she was about to drift to sleep. This is the look she gave me. I'm so sorry, buddy - you looked like you were about to give up the ghost!

I named her Halloween, because I adopted her in late October 2019. (And no, I did not win the Nobel prize for cat naming that year.) At the time, her estimated age was 2 years old. She is a rescue cat, who had been adopted from the rescue organization once before, and then returned to the organization because her new owners found her to be... "too rowdy."

Not that I'm judging the people who tried to adopt her before me, mind you. I can absolutely see how she might have been a bit too hardcore, especially for first-time cat owners. But at that point, I already had 14 years of experience with cats, and I told the animal rescue people that I can handle rowdy.

And sure, she's destroyed an armchair, a couch, two giant cat trees, and stripped some paint off my apartment wall... But that's just her cat operating system running on the "Natural" setting. Judging by the way she's been with me, she probably didn't have much interaction with humans before she was picked up by animal rescue. She's very in touch with her natural survival instincts and likes to mark her territory by scratching stuff, she keeps her claws absolutely deadly sharp, and she destroys every cat toy you give her because she likes to practice how to actually kill things.

She's a real cat's cat.

And if I had to make a choice between her and having nice things - buddy, I'll tell you this:

There ain't no thing nicer than her.

And I genuinely mean it, she really is the nicest cat. Over time, she has become super socialized with humans. She loves having guests over. She's never been anything but friendly and affectionate towards everyone who comes in through my door. Hell, she's even learned to enjoy belly scratches - though, it did require two years of trust exercises, and I'm the only one allowed to do it.

She just doesn't quite understand such human concepts as "material possessions" and "monetary value". Which, to be honest, I sometimes struggle to understand myself.

Oh, and while her official name is Halloween, I mostly call her Weenie, Wean, Wee'un, Whiskress, Fatty Arbuckle, Tummy Girl, oh buddy, kitty, cat, or BASTURT! Now that I mention it, I'll pretty much call her anything except her actual name.

Doesn't matter what name I call her, she pretends not to understand.
But she knows.
Oh, she knows.

Look, here's an old picture of her in the armchair that she has since destroyed!

Now, instead of a really nice leather armchair, I have a plastic bench that was meant for outdoor use in, like, a garden or something. Good luck tearing through that ye little basturt... Oya basturt ye... I love you so much.

Anyway. I just wanted to gush over my beautiful perfect cat for a minute!