He's doing great, and he's even adapting to Texas well. He still stomps around the house yelling, as both Siamese cats and old dudes do. I assumed what he was saying was, "Ethel! Where are my glasses? Ethel! Where are my pants?" Of course, now that we're in Texas, he's had to make a few adjustments: "Maria! Donde esta my pants? Maria! Donde esta my soul jar? I could go at any minute... Mao..."
We didn't let him vote, even though he's of age, since he keeps ranting about Taft and demanding we bring back Eisenhower.
Not bad for a cat that just a few years ago had chewed off all his fur and was so threadbare he looked like the Velveteen Rabbit. Go MrZ.
My brother, on the other hand, seems perfectly capable of locating his own pants, and has never had dust come off him when you patted him as far as I know.
Happy Birthday, dudes.