The first blog post I wrote involved my aunt’s cat, Havelock. I now realize that I am being horribly unfair to my own cat, who has faithfully stuck by my side for twelve years, mostly because we feed him. He deserves his own blog post.

I have a cat. His name is Smokey. He sleeps a lot.

Really, that’s all he does. All of his movement is focused on getting to another part of the house he can sleep in. Whenever he goes outside, it’s always to find a place to sleep. Sometimes he sleeps under the tree. Sometimes he sleeps on top of my car. Once, he slept in a neighbor’s backseat. Mostly he just sleeps.

He’s mental, too, but not as much as Havelock. Sleeping used to be his favorite pastime, even as a kitten. He’d be racing around the living room, tearing up the carpet, and then suddenly fall dead asleep.

Yessir, owning a cat sure is nice. Keeps to himself a lot. Sleeps, really. When you call his name when he’s asleep (which is most of the time), he meows nastily as if to tell you to go away, you’re interrupting his sleep.

He has a MySpace, but I don’t check on it anymore. It’s to keep with his character. He sleeps a lot, so of course he wouldn’t go on MySpace. Cuz he’s asleep.

Reminds me of my grandfather, really. Not the hair, because my grandfather has white hair, whereas my tabby cat has gray fur. It’s more about the sleeping. Oh, and the cranky old-man voice. At least good old Pop-Pop doesn’t have to go outside to sleep. Unless that’s why he goes on those Boy Scout trips, to sleep outside. It’s possible.

I think I’m gonna go take a nap.