I have two cats, Mittens and Coco. They are incredibly friendly and docile, and I love them very much.

Mittens is quite a distinguished gentleman. He’s got a lovely longcoat of tuxedo fur, a moustache, and gloves and boots to boot. (see what I did there?) He’s a bit of a hunter – he’s caught a mouse, and he tracked down a squirrel for 3 days straight (it fell into our house through the chimmney somehow). In fact, he’s got quite of a taste for the outdoors. The first time I tried to take him on a walk, it was wintertime, with snow covering the yard. He leapt daintily, his white paws blending in with the snow. He slipped out of the too-loose leash and nearly vanished into the tall grass, if it weren’t for my mad-dash to corral him back towards the direction of the house. He’s still a bit of an escape artist. On more than one occasion, taking groceries into the house, he’s scampered away onto the hot pavement, only to come back sheepishly a few hours later, meowing at the door for food.

He’s hard to resist – when it’s dark, his pupils expand until they’re saucers. They’re the same color as his fur, and it almost looks as if he has two black marbles in his furry little skull. He shrimps up on my bed, curling up into tight balls. Other times, he stretches out wide, his hind legs and front paws forming a hyperbolic curve, a 200 degree arc in the pivot point that is his spine. When he does this, I can’t help but bury my face in his belly. He never resists, just purrs and drools. Despite my allergies, my stuffy nose and watery eyes are well worth it – he smells like cinnamon and light laundry detergent, his fur soft like down. He curls his front paws, then gets upset when I try and shake them. Maybe he’s scared I’ll take his mittens off.

Coco is quite a distinguished lady. Her white gown is spotless. Who are you getting married to Coco? She wouldn’t know. She’d have to smell them first.

Coco was the more timid of the two. She doesn’t yowl like Mittens does when he doesn’t get his way; she sits quietly, tilting her head to one side as she watches from the scratched up living room chair. After all, that’s her throne. When I wave around a cat toy, unlike the acrobatics that Mittens performs, she gets low to the ground. She stalks, gripping her claws into the carpet, the chair, even the walls if she tried. She refuses to leave the ground, yet scampers faster than Mittens ever could. In the first week we had her, she was so scared of us she dug a hole into the bottom of our sofa, and tucked herself in, refusing to leave. Now, she splays out on that very same sofa, luxuriously and regally. Still though, fruit boxes are irresistable to her. Maybe she just likes feeling grounded, having all four walls to surround her.

Her most endearing habit is her purrs. When we pick her up and carry her around like a baby, she begins to whir. Her engine roars to life (get it? because she’s a car? car? cat? no?) and all I can do is hold on. Of course, she demands to be put down soon after. Because, after all, she is the queen, and she gets what she wants. But what’s a queen without her royal cloak? She has a soft spot for furry blankets, and I do too. Coco rarely comes upstairs, but on late nights, I sometimes hear her silently pawing at the door, begging to be let in. When she comes, she secures the area, sniffing every corner. Only when she’s sure, she hops on the bed. She steals my blankie, the blankie that I was born on, and goes to town. Holding it in her mouth, she purrs and purrs with no end, massaging the embroidered corner with my birthday and name. I let her, because it’s not often that the queen visits such a lowly peasant as I in my own abode.

Don’t be fooled. Mittens is all bark, no bite. His 18 lb frame is as gentle as they come. His drool has done more damage to me allergy-wise than a claw ever could. On the flip side, Coco is all bite, no bark. She’ll brush up against my legs, give me a little bit of attention, then bite my ankles as if to say: “know your place.”