I used to think that I was a good communicator, now I know that I am not. I used to think that I was a good joke teller till someone told me I am not. (I'm still mad about that one.) I've been told that I am funny but that does not mean that I can tell a joke. I'm one of those people that if I manage not to mangle the actual timeline of the joke, invariably forget the actual punch line.
OK confession time our cats have voices, I know most cats have voices but in this case I mean that it is not unusual for me to do the talking for the cats. Gus is a Russian-French accent and Jack is the male feline version of a Valley Girl. Gus' accent comes from the way he carries himself and how he looks at the world; stoic and haughty. Jack's voice has more to do with his actual voice and the way he sees the world. His meow is high and has an inflection that always makes it sound like he is asking a question.
Jack was adopted from the shelter before he could even remember being there, Gus remembers the good old days when it was just him and Dad in the bachelor pad. All the palmetto bugs and pizza crusts you could eat. I'm still not sure that was not the happiest time in his life.
I think he forgets how much D was gone and how bored he must have been. Mom is OK, and a great (Gus says adequate) chin scratcher, but his heart will always belong to Dad first, unless there is food. Wait it is food = #1 and Dad = #1a, a cat has to have his priorities you know.
Wait what was I saying? Communication, I'm still working on it.