For ages, River has been describing the antics of his cat, Rupert. As anyone can see, he deeply loves Rupert. Unbeknownst to River, however, his close friends have been hiding a deep, dark secret about his cat.

Rupert, you see, is not a real cat, he's a stuffed animal. When River's senility got severe, his closest friends chipped in and bought him a stuffed cat and assured River it was real. River cherishes that stuffed animal and even believes it can move and eat.

I think it was sweet of Krister, Paolo and UncleFlo to do that for River.

For anyone here who wants to send River some music, his favorite song is Indian Love Call by Slim Whitman.

Actually many who were at the MOM met Rupert, and its true I love that little guy, he is my best friend, but as anybody knows when he jumps in your lap to be pet, he means NOW, and when he is done being pet, he will sink his claws into you to let you know that he is done.

He is such a kitty,

River

It is nice that at River's age pussy still jumps in his lap.

Thank you, I am always ready for a good .

River

My Wizard does not like being petted that much. What he likes is being played with. If he thinks I am not playing with him enough, he attacks my feet and ankles, especially when I am not wearing pants.

Cats can be cool. I'm a dog guy at heart, but I like cats.

However, one I had when I was a kid got me good.

Pugs was always very calm, a real laid-back cat. One night, he was hissing at another cat through the window in my bedroom. It was quite late, and I woke up because of a bad dream.

Concerned about Pugs, and feeling like a cuddle because of the dream, I got out of bed and went to the window.... the one that Pugs was facing, hair standing up, hissing like mad at some intruder outside.

I walked right up behind him and reached out to pet him to calm him down.

(Hey, I was 11 years old and stupid).

Well, holy hell, you'd think I reached out for a hand grenade.

That cat fucking EXPLODED, teeth and claws everywhere; I was torn to shreds in the blink of an eye, Pugs ran off and was gone (hiding in the basement) before I even opened my eyes.

Mom spent a good hour putting bactine and bandaids on me; one of the cuts had to get stitches the next morning. Claw marks on my cheek, chin, and forearms, with the back of my left hand having the cut that needed stitches.

I renamed the cat Mad Dog after that (after Mad Dog Vachon, the wrestler); nobody in my family argued with me.

And, I kept him close after that; we slept together quite a lot until his death. I figured, if he could fight that good, I wanted him on MY side!