When I got married a little over a year ago, I acquired two cats.
In two previous marriages, I endured two Chihuahuas and one cat, respectively.
Wife #1's Chihuahuas, Popeye and Olive, were not only annoying, but she had trained them to go in a litterbox. And then kept the litterbox under the kitchen table. There was never anything so special in my life as having a little dog come and take a dump near my feet while I was eating breakfast.
Wife #2's cat Sylvia was originally Sylvester (as in Sylvester and Tweety) until it was discovered that he was a she. My second wife's sister was not the sharpest crayon in the box. In any event, we inherited Sylvester/Sylvia when she moved into an apartment she couldn't have a pet in. Sylvia was pretty low-maintenance, except that she took a strange dislike to my son-- she would hiss at him if he came near. (or "histle" as he mispronounced it).
My wife's cats, Helga and Mingus, are sister and brother, and complete opposites. Helga, pictured above, is clever-- too clever. She got very good at slipping out of the house. Last summer she slipped past one of us, went wandering and got mauled by some animal.
Her brother Mingus is not super-bright. He sits, perpetually, with a puzzled look on his face. Life is a complete mystery to him. Except food. If he gets much bigger, he'll need his own zip code. Hence his nickname, "Fatboy."
The only problem with them is that they use the furniture as a scratching post. This drives my wife nuts-- one of the things she walked out of her first marriage with was a decent couch set. Not that they limit themselves to that-- things like door frames, and my metal filing cabinet are fair game.
So she got them a scratching pad-- the thing that Helga's sitting on in the top picture. It came with a couple of bags of catnip that you pour into it.
Yesterday, I got home from work to find that they'd gotten at the box the scratching pad came with, and dug out the extra catnip. They tore the bag apart and went apeshit with the catnip. They ate both bags. Here they are post-nip, listening to Phish and watching Barney Miller reruns. I think they'd ordered a pizza for delivery.