Scemo, pazzo!
Chiara and I have two cats, two boy cats. Our two boys are such extreme opposites that it is considered evidence of the existence of God that nuclear war hasn't broken out at home yet.

Pousky (a.k.a. Pouskin, a housecat and not a memer of the Russian ruling elite, at least as far as I know) is big, white, very fluffy and furry, very slow, addicted to love in the forms of chin scratching, and capable of inflicting unspeakable horror with the hundreds of metric tons of cat shit which his industrial digestive system cranks out. Poushy is my cat.

26 is a street kitten we picked up. 26 is small, jet black, far too fast for anyone's good (including the furniture), and gluttonous as evidenced by his belly which makes him look a little like a furry black football which meows. 26 is Chiara's cat.

Now, while we both own both cats, we like to say that Poushy is mine and 26 hers. So, in the name of teasing and to prove through the vox populi that I'm right when I say her cat is awful, I've uploaded a picture of him to Kitten War. You can find our rascal here.

At the time of writing this, 26 has lost his first Kitten War. Let the losing streak begin!  ¶ 3:01 PM