Chunk is continuing to thrive and bring much laughter and joy. He apparently would be a kick-ass Burmese show cat, if my sister did that kind of thing, which she really doesn’t. He’s kind of hydrocephalus.
And his eyes are so far apart, he kind of fetal-alcohol-syndrome cat. It gives him this permanently shocked look that I adore.
I’m also interested, however, in his personality, which is also kick-ass. He’s braver and stronger than his litter mates. He was the first to climb out of his bed, first to climb back in on his own, doesn’t cry when I pick him up (one of his siblings has been nicknamed Chickenliver, because he thinks the world has disappeared when you pick him up, and lets you know it.)
He was the first to play, the first to play with a hand attached to a human. He seeks me out when I come to visit. I lay on the bed, and he comes right to me and plays all over me. I’m sure it’s not cause I’m playing favorites or anything. (Ooops.)
Chunk plays like absolute batshit for twenty minutes, and then falls over on me dead.
He plays so batshit, I also sometimes call him Mad-Eye.