Lion still loves that cushion on the armchair. He is often the first cat to visit me in the morning, waking me with loud purring (a lovely sound at any hour... no complaints). He's also usually the first cat to curl up with me in bed at night, where I'm still reading Wallace Clement Sabine: A Study in Achievement, about the man who lived in this house a century ago.
All of our cats have a lot of nicknames, which are mostly too silly to discuss here. But Lion's latest is "Nino," which comes from my calling him variations on Lion, including "Lionino." It suits him, and he already comes when I use it to call him. It reminds me of some handsome, spoiled Italian playboy wearing a tuxedo in a Fellini movie.
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In other news, Possum is no longer limping but he still stumps around audibly, which is unusual for a cat. Only very big, fat cats make noise when they walk around, and Possum is not that big or fat. We had a different vet for his appointment last week and she didn't think he was so very heavy. She pointed out that he had a "waist" and that he didn't have a lot of fat along his back or a very saggy belly. But I dared her to try to locate any of his ribs and she surrendered.
I keep telling him to try to be more of a twinkle-toes to save wear on his joints. He just stares right through me, as he does whenever I suggest tiny ways that he might improve. "Just because you're perfect doesn't mean you can't be even more perfect," I tell him, but to no avail.