The line of Lenny's mouth when he rests his chin on his chest, happily in sleep, is absolutely verbal-dribble producing. He makes Disney characters look like feral half-bald rats. Each stripe in his fur is absolutely perfect, strong and bold against the golden fawn colour that covers the rest of him, and he has very distinct dots all over his stomach. I like to poke them, press them like buttons. I also like to stroke his ruddy-tawn nose, which contrasts ever so nicely with his white muzzle.
Xena is just as beautiful. Her fur isn't perfect. It's a mass of grey-blue and dark grey, fine stripes lost in the patchiness, and on her head and flanks are little tufts of ginger fur, which somehow looks pink in all the blueness. She has a beautiful kittenish face though, big expressive eyes that look around her, mobile in her skull, like a human. She pins people with those eyes, makes them wibble for their Mummies. She is Xena. She is long legged, long toed, like a tiny wrong-coloured cheetah. She hunts beautifully and she only needs me. And even then she doesn't need me that much.
She'll defend her place as my cat though, very coolly and firmly. It's nice to be wanted.
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