Was there ever a handsomer gentleman cat, from the tip of his milk-mustachioed nose to the end of his excessively bushy tail?
Harris, Lion, and Possum may disagree, but we think Toffee is the cattiest of our cats, the quintessential feline, the one who'd be illustrated under "C" in the children's alphabet book. (I was going to say "encyclopedia" but that would date me, correctly, to the Pleistocene Era.)
Here he's doing a yoga stretch while mentally solving physics problems.
The first one turned up last Friday, while our agent was here to look at the condo and tell us the whole place had to be painted pale gray so it will sell quickly to people half our age. My husband spotted it and surreptitiously manipulated it into a hiding spot until he could sneak into the kitchen to get a paper towel and dispose it.
Our agent is afraid of cats, by the way. She was been bitten by a nasty cat when she was little, so she is courageous to visit us. She tried to be brave as Harris began flinging himself around her legs and Possum came over to say hello. We picked up Harris to get him away from her and to demonstrate his innocence... but then our agent got a glimpse of his protruding fangs and that was that. (We refer to Harris's oddly oversized canines as "fangoes" and now he's conceited about them.)
But her worst moment was later, when we were all in my husband's little office debating about various pallid, dingy indistinguishable paint shades. She was next to Possum's corrugated cardboard scratching pad, taped to a filing cabinet. Possum was hanging out with us and decided to show off his skills. So all of a sudden this large, dangerous animal had reared up beside her on his hind legs to fiercely hone his weaponry. (Possum is surprisingly tall when he stands up like that, and he is always wide.) We began praising him for doing the right thing, not realizing that our agent had turned a color that matched her paint swatches. "Ohh, so THAT's what that's for..." she said weakly, after we explained.
But I digress.
The second Free Gift turned up the next morning morning under my husband's freshly showered and bare foot (this is the standard method of discovery). The third one turned up on Thursday, mere moments before the home stagers arrived to scope out our condo, This morning Toffee himself discovered one next to my bed and woke me up with his energetic imaginary-dirt burial technique.
The home stagers plan to paint this whole place the color of an ancient bra, because they know what sells. Boring, timid, colorless gray is what sells. But, according to our little scientist Toffee, they will be unable to erase every traces of "character" that mark this place not matter how busy we get with Nature's Miracle Enzymatic Cleaner and paper towel. We don't smell anything and even our agent says she doesn't. (And I doubt she's just being nice.)
But if any buyers bring their cat along to the open house, that cat will know all.