Now that I did say, "guilty as charged!"
I never told you about my last cat, Pico, that was short for Roscoe Pico Train. Dope ass cat dude, a Manx. I was probably 20 when he died. Crazy ass story, he died the same night as my grandfather, that was a trip considering he lived with my grandparents several times I bounced around from wherever to somewhere else. Funny... my grandfather "hated" cats. That's funny.
A survivor, too. One time the bastard supposed to watch the house didn't when we were on vacation, I was just a kid. The other cat starved to death, he was Himalayan. Not Pico though. He got outside at some point and fended for himself that month.
That cat was dope dude, he came when you called him and could open door handles.
You likely won't find this surprising but I could easily go off another thousand words right now.