This is Eddy. He is 14 years old. I got him as a kitten the day before Thanksgiving, 2005. I really wanted to adopt a cat, but the shelter wouldn't let me - I was only 20. So I picked him out of a box at a pet store - and yes, I realize the horrors of pet stores, but seriously, he was calling my name. We bonded instantly. I was going to call him Raul, but it really does not roll off the tongue gracefully. "Rocky Horror Picture Show" was playing in the background, and it had come to the part where all the guests are in Dr. Frank-n-Furter's lab and the freezer opens and Columbia screams, "Eddie!" and I just stuck with it. But, being 20, I felt the need to change all conventional spelling, and hence, Eddy. I've had him longer than I've had my husband. He sleeps with me every night, stretched against my back. He bites the tops of my feet if he feels I have not refreshed his food recently enough. He refuses to let me go to the bathroom alone. He talks more than I do - he even meows at phantom somethings in the bathroom, walking his front paws up the walls and meowing at the ceiling. He is desperately soft, extremely friendly, he loves milk rings, and he purrs like a rusty motor. Eddy is my first baby.
My mom drew my attention to the fact that I neglected to mention one of Eddy's most charming attributes - his freckles. I added another picture - look closely at his nose. I was scared to death the first time I saw them, but the vet assured me that they were normal. He has freckles on his nose and his lips, and they are, definitely, charming.
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