Last night St. Patrick's Day was celebrated not by going out, but by having drinks and girl talk at a friend's place. It was really nice, and I saw her new cat for the first time. His name is George.
George is 13 years old, and is exactly like a grumpy, bitter old man. He's a tad overweight and doesn't really miauw like normal cats, but more like he's saying "hey bitch, stroke me!". He's really not nice or well-mannered in any way, but he's still kind of cute. I petted him the whole time, and as soon as I stopped he looked at me with his mean eyes as if to tell me to continue. He really liked my jacket too, and slept on it the whole evening. Amazing how you can feel so used by a cat...