We've always adored Sammy and hoped that he knew it. We had no idea, however, how much love he must have felt was missing until little Dobby was born. Dobby is selfless love embodied and brightens the day of every creature he meets (-- crows his proud Stupid Human Companion). In his presence, Sam-I-Am can no more be dignified and aloof than I can do cartwheels or wipe my ass. He plays more than he did even as a kitten and is often found in some sort of cheerful embrace that involves either Dobby or Fred, who apparently provides the best belly rubs and tail pulls.
That's not to say that they each don't search out periods of solitude, cat-ti-tude -- Fred included.
Occasionally, when in some sort of fugue state and half-asleep, Sammy tries to boink little Dobby! No, Sammy, no! Run, Dobby, run!
Luckily, Dobby has a healthy set of lungs and a well-defined sense of proprietary parameters, and promptly raises the general alarm with something closer to a sea lion's bark than a meow.
They have been neutered -- as kittens, both. During the waiting period (after having her litter and before having her spayed), Sam repeatedly tried to mount Dobby's mother, the inimitable Marmy.
Ergo, we conclude that:
A. his neutering didn't "take," and
2. he is a switch-hitter.
There are times when, even though he is interrupted and often rebuffed, Sammy is the only one in the house getting any action.
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