You know, some go for the Strong, Silent type. Some go for Mr. Tall Dark And Handsome. Some like the Bad Boys.
Me, I like ’em Orange.
I’ve always had a thing for orange kitties. Big time.
Here’s me with a big, orange baby way back when.
1968. This picture has shown itself here on this blog before, but it deserves another look.
This little one was adorable. His name was Pumpkin Face. He got pretty tough-acting when I shortened his name to The Pump.
He and my dog Annie were great pals.
Really, I promise. They’re just playing.
He used to follow me around the neighborhood. He also liked to climb trees.
Here’s The Pump with Annie – they are in our front yard, but they are pretending that they are great explorers out in the grassy plains.
Here’s a fluffy, orange kitty that my family had. Sadly I don’t remember his name. But he’s sure purty!
Here’s one of my favorite kitties of all times. I adopted him when I was volunteering at an Animal Shelter. I named him Gusano (translation: Worm). Name became shortened to Goose.
He was one of the most alien-creature-like-cat I’ve ever had. He was really special.
Look at that question-mark tail:
This kitty adopted me. He showed up around around Halloween one year. I named him Ichabod.
He was a big, old, broken-down kitty. He had notches in his ears and I think had been hit by a car. His jaw wouldn’t completely close and he drooled all of the time. His name quickly became shortened to Icky.
He was the biggest lover of all. What a sweetheart!
Here’s the first picture taken with our kitty now, our big boy, Sammy.
He’s our main squeeze, our love-a-bug. The Samster.
There’s just something about Orange Kitties. If I could I would adopt about 200 of them.