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Cleo was a small kitten when she pushed into the house through the cat door of the garage, and came upstairs crying at the top of her lungs for something to eat and drink. She must have been the runt of the litter. It seems someone had tied her up, and she hurt the underside of a front leg and chest chewing herself free. Then almost starved finding a new place to live.
Her shoulders are still narrow, though her belly practically drags on the floor sometimes. When she hunts, at her most aggressive she caught lizards so warm from the sun they were falling asleep. Once she had a colubrid so small it looked from afar like an earthworm. She also pounces on crickets, beetles, and moths. She still likes to play with a wad of velcro on the end of the string. After a few minutes, she takes it in her mouth and lies down on her side. Cleo then only grabs the tip if it hits her on the paws.
Her large eyes seem to change color depending on the light, ranging from blue to gray to yellow. Her small cat nose and mouth make her cute enough to nearly get away with jumping up on the table at mealtimes. Unlike some cats, the only human food she will eat is the occasional scrap of chicken or turkey. She could sit next to a roast or a bowl of cream without even feeling tempted, though she might sniff a green bean. Open a can of cat food, however, and she comes at a run, nearly tripping the feeder as she wraps herself effusively around the ankles.
The only times she ever cries now are when she can see the food dish coming her way, and when she has gone to sleep with someone and been trapped in their room with the door closed all night. Her cry is a quiet version of the high pitched nip of a tiny lapdog. Her purr is a small outboard motor.
Cleo regularly licks her soft coat clean, especially her paws. The short, tiger-striped fur ranges from charcoal to light brown, with an overall dark gray-brown hue. The only white is in ears and on whiskers.
Her nominal owner calls Cleo, "My little bacon bit." The rolls of fat are evident in some positions, less obvious in others. Cleo almost looks normally weight from above when she is standing. Laying on her stomach she can seem as wide as she is long.
When not sleeping, she spends a lot of time on her perch looking out the window. She got another nickname during the winter, starting out the window where the shutters were closed: "Blonde," from the French stereotypical association of cute, young blondes with those of limited intellectual means. That said, she did manage to edge her way into a cushy home life here, so maybe the joke is on someone else.
Her shoulders are still narrow, though her belly practically drags on the floor sometimes. When she hunts, at her most aggressive she caught lizards so warm from the sun they were falling asleep. Once she had a colubrid so small it looked from afar like an earthworm. She also pounces on crickets, beetles, and moths. She still likes to play with a wad of velcro on the end of the string. After a few minutes, she takes it in her mouth and lies down on her side. Cleo then only grabs the tip if it hits her on the paws.
Her large eyes seem to change color depending on the light, ranging from blue to gray to yellow. Her small cat nose and mouth make her cute enough to nearly get away with jumping up on the table at mealtimes. Unlike some cats, the only human food she will eat is the occasional scrap of chicken or turkey. She could sit next to a roast or a bowl of cream without even feeling tempted, though she might sniff a green bean. Open a can of cat food, however, and she comes at a run, nearly tripping the feeder as she wraps herself effusively around the ankles.
The only times she ever cries now are when she can see the food dish coming her way, and when she has gone to sleep with someone and been trapped in their room with the door closed all night. Her cry is a quiet version of the high pitched nip of a tiny lapdog. Her purr is a small outboard motor.
Cleo regularly licks her soft coat clean, especially her paws. The short, tiger-striped fur ranges from charcoal to light brown, with an overall dark gray-brown hue. The only white is in ears and on whiskers.
Her nominal owner calls Cleo, "My little bacon bit." The rolls of fat are evident in some positions, less obvious in others. Cleo almost looks normally weight from above when she is standing. Laying on her stomach she can seem as wide as she is long.
When not sleeping, she spends a lot of time on her perch looking out the window. She got another nickname during the winter, starting out the window where the shutters were closed: "Blonde," from the French stereotypical association of cute, young blondes with those of limited intellectual means. That said, she did manage to edge her way into a cushy home life here, so maybe the joke is on someone else.
