My other kid

We have another baby in our house.  He’s around 20 pounds, just like Jillian, but unlike Jillian, he never does much besides eat, sleep, and scream.  I mean, meow.  His name is Chester and he is my mentally deficient cat.

Chester has always been weird.  We adopted him in 2001 from the local shelter, where he’d been staying for about a week.  It was loud and uncomfortable in there, and when we went to look at the kitties, he was cowering in the back of his cage, all sad-looking.
We took him home with us and let him out of his cage.  He immediately ran to hide under our bed and there he stayed for the next three days.  Eventually, he got hungry and came out to eat something, but for the most part, he chilled under the bed all the time.
At night, once the lights were out and we were settled down for the night, Chester would appear and crawl around on the bed with us.  He liked to try to sleep on my head, and after a few nights of me shoving him back onto the floor, we got into a comfortable pattern of him sleeping up against my stomach or my back, depending on which way I was facing.
He’s never been a normal cat, but he’s ours.  Lately, I’ve been feeling a little guilty since he’s no longer #1 baby.  He got kicked down to second place by the slobbering hairless creature who rolls around on the floor that was once his and his alone.  Chester needs to be brushed but he won’t let me do it.   He also need to lose some weight, but I only feed him a half-cup of food every morning, so it’s not like he’s eating too much – he’s just a lazy fat-ass.
To attempt to get him moving, I found his favorite catnip toy today and loaded it up with a fresh dose of Kitty Pot.  He spent about fifteen minutes batting the toy around and now he’s sitting on the toy, inhaling its scent.  He’s acting all stoned now and I fully expect him to waddle into the kitchen to cure his munchies.

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