Kittens, they are. About six months old. Brothers. An orange tabby, a big doofus, names Samson. And a sleek, soft, soulful black one named Cash. For the original Man in Black, Johnny Cash.
My family always had dogs. There are so many differences. But these two cats kind of act more like dogs than any other cats I've met. Maybe it's that they know I have certain expectations of them. So far the biggest "cat" tenet I have not been able to accept and they have not been able to overcome is the fearfulness. If you bring a new item into a home with a dog, their thought pattern seems to be, "Oh, that's new." Sniff. "Huh. Well, it's not in my way, not blocking the food bowl, and not blocking the exit, so, okay, whatever."
Bring a new item into a house with a cat, and they seem to be screaming at the top of their lungs to each other or anyone who might understand, "OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT? OH MY GOD, IT MUST BE A BOMB. OH MY GOD THE TERRORISTS BROUGHT A BOMB AND LEFT IT HERE." Then, they look at you and an affect of horrific understanding comes over their faces, "OH MY GOD, YOU BROUGHT IT. YOU ARE A TERRORIST."
I just wish they could calm down and be more accepting and trustful.
