This poptart was the meanest little thing to ever be pulled out of a barn, switchblades drawn. He was also the only one of his litter of six to survive parvo and predator, but not without spending a week at the vet's office hooked up to the world's tiniest IV drip. He's now 8 months old and whines when I'm not where he can see me.
UPDATE: He is turning one year old in June and we've named him "Sid Fishes" Cheesy, I know, but it was fitting. For the first couple of months, he slept in my hair and woke me up trying to nurse on my ear. He's adjusted a bit and now sleeps at my feet, but still demands to be picked up and hugged whenever I come through the front door. We chase each other through the house until we both pant and he still fights dirty.
UPDATE II: Sid is a couple of months shy of two years now and just got his very own puppy to play with. He lives the happy life of a slightly chubby house cat and spends his days currently running mad dashes around my house with the puppy. Sometimes they even still let me play.
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