My cat, or rather the cat I am blessed enough to be living with, is the most lovable cat in the world. Born a barn cat, he nevertheless was endowed with enough charm and personality to make him in one package the most special cat I have ever seen.
He has startlingly green eyes in a wide gray face. He is a silvery smoke-gray longhair, not tabby, with fine fur that has a tendency to mat, not discouraged by its owner (who is not overly fond of grooming). He is comically active, with an alert personality that constantly apprises him of new stimuli and makes him rush off to investigate it. His eyes and ears flick here and there taking in everything around him. He has a propensity for suddenly and vigourously climbing things, and just as suddenly falling off them, often with a most ungraceful scrabbling of claws. He is fond of hunting but his clumsy impatient way of pursuing prey means that he is most successful only at hunting toads (whereas his wraith-like, silent brother is a skilled slayer of birds).
He is extremely fond of his brother, which he demonstrates by stalking him, rushing at him, and knocking him down for a friendly wrestling match. His calm and gentle, sweet-natured brother puts up with his bigger brother's roughness very patiently. Subtlety is not Mugsy's forte, or even anywhere in his vicinity.
Mugsy must be the scruffiest cat I have ever met. He has a reprehensible fondness for the manure pile and often smells of its contents. His passage through unknown fields of adventure leave him littered and bumpy with burrs and numerous other weed seeds which prove impossible to remove from his fur. During a rain or a mist, he is scraggily wet and muddy. This morning when I saw him before leaving for work he had bits of dirt scattered all over his fur. He is always matted underneath, and recently he did something to his left ear which resulted in the top of it flopping over slightly, giving him an even more well-worn, lopsided, endearing look. No, he would never win any cat beauty contest, at least not without considerable work, yet I wouldn't have him any other way.
He has such an outward-looking zest for life that he has no time to care for such mundane details. He is a comic, running headlong into everything he does, with often laughable results. He appreciates life and has an unsurpassed joie de vivre for living it. He has an earnest sweetness that is totally unconcerned with how others view him or even his own mistakes.
Mugsy's wholehearted abandon to the art of living translates itself into an equally strong love for people, and that is why I have lost my heart to him. The most endearing sight of my day is to see him, usually first thing when I step out of my car in the evening, pick up his head and come running toward me in a rapid, oh-there-you-are, I'm-so-glad-to-see-you fashion. There are a few loud chirpy meows of greeting along the way and then his sturdy little gray body is presented. If I am slow to pick him up, his paws go onto my knees and his body stretches up in a plea for love. When I pick him up, he is purring rapturously. I wrap my arms around his sturdy, incredibly alive and huggable body and hold him closely. He will rub his face against mine in that delicate, intimate way a cat has with those he loves, and lick my nose. When I try to put him down, he clings in resistance, usually resulting in my delighted resignation to cuddling him a bit longer. He is happy to be held and to be carried about in the most crazy and awkward positions, as long as he is with you. He has an almost insatiable appetite for affection and an equally insatiable appetite for giving it. He is a sweet, passionate, furry little bundle of love. He is simple, but simply loving.
Mugsy is one of the brightest spots in my life. I think he must be as God created animals (and humans) to be: constantly, unconditionally, totally loving. He is the one thing I can count on to be happy and right and kind. Running carefree in his Eden, I think he reflects in some way what Eden must have been, and it is good.