Ziggy, Zack, Matthew, Luke, George and Harry.
Each one has their own personality, habits and attitudes.
Ziggy, well mannered, quiet, gets along with everyone yets like to be to himself.
His spot on the bed is at the outside or my elbow with his back to me.
Zack, has aggressive moments with the other cats. Likes to chew my fingers when I try to pet him.
Hates Harry and will bully him every chance he gets.
His spot on the bed is by my feet.
Matthew, he is a big boy. Waddles when he walks. He talks a lot. Gets along with all the other cats except Harry who he always hisses at.
His favorite pass time is digging all the cat litter out of the box and spreading it over the floor.
I think he secretely likes to watch me sweep the floor.
His spot on the bed is right behind my back or near my head, where he uses my forearm as a scratching post.
Luke is schizophrenic. Scared of his own shadow. Screams like a girl when the other cats look at him.
Very shy and keeps to himself. He gets along with Ziggy the best.
His spot on the bed is by my stomach. If I'm on my side he will snuggle in the crook.
George is curious, gets into everything. Has to be the first to have the attention or he gets jealous and will attack the other cats.
He is the only one that gets along with Harry. First one out in the morning, last one in at night.
He sleeps on my shoulder along my arm and purrs in my ear all night.
Now Harry, he is from a different litter. He is cousin to the others, and even after 8 years of living under the same roof, they just won't tolerate him at all.
Harry I think if he was an only cat would be very friendly, but due to the other cats he spends most his time in hiding, or if he goes out stays out for days. Now that winter is here he has made his hangout in a bedroom closet, where I might catch a glimpse of him in the middle of the night sneeking a midnight snack.
All of these cats are feral by nature. Their mom Ginger gave them to me when they were born to protect them from the other animals when I lived in Florida. She brought them all into the house, weaned them and then left.
When I moved to Maine I had 10 cats and a dog I took with me.
Elizabeth, the only girl, when she found she could get away from all the males, fled to the wilderness never to be seen again.
Reese chose to make his own way in the world and one day he just never came back.
Carter somehow got himself wedged under the base of the sink cabinet. I couldn't find him for days. And when I finally found him he was expired.
My Dog Lady was a rescue dog from a neighbor who had no idea how to terat another living thing. So I took her for my own.
She passed away a few years ago with some form of blood cancer.
So now it's Me, Dad and 6 cats. They are getting on. They don't climb the trees anymore. They half heartedly swat at the butterflies.
Occasionally George graces me with a dead mouse or a dead bird.
Luke brought me a living chipmunk a couple months ago. That was fun chasing around the house.
They are my kids. They keep us company and entertained. And before dad came to live with me, they was my reason for getting up in the morning and taking care of them.
Otherwise I would still be sleeping.
Since I was born my family has always had cats. I had over 20 when I lived in Florida. I got them all spayed, neutered and shots.
Dogs weren't a part of my upbringing, living in Boston in a small apartment didn't make that possible.
But through the years I've had 4 dogs. A Red and white Husky named Samantha, A Samoyan name Shadow, A Shitzu named Milo, and Lady who was a pit shepherd mix.
The house don't stink unless I neglect the litterboxes. I have 3 that I change weekly.
Matthew is the one that keeps me on my toes with that though. Every morning he makes me sweep the floor.
I have more cat claw puncture marks on my arms and legs that a sieve has holes.
And George keeps reminding me I need to buy ear plugs so I can get a good night sleep.
I love my cats. They are my kids.

Hugs