I didn't have a cat growing up. My mom didn't like cats. In fact, until I was about 16, I thought they were vermin. You know, like mice, rats and squirrels. When I was 16, over at a friend's house, her cat climbed into my lap. I petted him gingerly and he started making this odd noise. I thought I broke my friend's cat. I thought he was having an asthma attack -- I'd never heard a cat purr before.

I was hooked.

My mom, however, still thought of cats as vermin. I desperately wanted an indoor pet. We kind of had a dog, but my sister and I were both allergic to her -- unfortunately for the dog, she was allergic to grass. It was a mess.

As a result, I didn't have an indoor animal until I moved out on my own and I suppose some would say that I've gone a bit overboard. Oh well.

Click on any of the pictures below to see some more pictures of those cats.

Right after I moved out, I got Rhys Michael (his name is from a Katherine Kurtz book). He was my kitten, but when he got odler he became attached to my college roommate and she eventually took him with her.
Ralphie was a stray and a bit on the special side. (He's the black and white cat laying on his back.)
Brenden was my baby. I got him when he was about four weeks old. He was a noisy little cuss who loved to sleep on my pillow. He eventually got cancer, had a leg removed along with the tumor and then it recurred a few years later.
Caitlin was from another roommate and was the stereotypical girl kitty. Snobby and only wanted to do what she wanted to do.