The boys. My fiance’s, I mean, our weird cats. They’re always sneaking in the garage when I’m in there or leave the door open.
The older one on the right lived a street life as an outdoor pet until the owners gave him away, becoming just a house cat. He allegedly fathered lots of Siamese cats that roamed the neighborhood, and the story goes that on pickup day, he was mounting another cat underneath a car and she literally pulled him away to take him home.

Before we met, he was big trouble for her, tearing up apartments. Years ago she even gave him away online because of that, under the condition they wouldn’t sell him. When she saw him up for sale right quick, she went and demanded him back. Here he is now. He’s still trouble.
The younger guy she had since a kitten. He was the drooling little runt who came from a Siamese cat horder lady with cages filling her house. The lady was like “I’ve got a real nice one picked out for you here.”

He still is the drooling little runt, cross eyed and missing a fang. I’ve seen the pictures, he was a cute white little baby.
The weirdos are like brothers and cuddle and clean each other all the time. When they wrestle, the older cat always wins by neck pin submission. He tends to be fatherly toward the other, and protective when we got the dog.
These are my two old girls. They are real sisters. My mother rescued them from a garden shed when they were kittens. They’ve been house cats their whole life. Some years back, the orange one snuck out, got spooked, and hid in the garage for days amidst my junk. The door was open and we called for her, so we figured she wasn’t in there. Days later out of nowhere she comes walking out.
Oddly enough, as sisters, these two are rarely ever in the same room let alone cuddle or get near one another. Been that way forever.
I could count on one hand a rare occasion like this.