Casper hates me. Hatesmehatesmehatesme. I used to cat sit her when her owners were out of town, and I think she associates me with their absence.

But for some reason last night when we were at a friend's house celebrating a newly minted PhD (congrats Hilary!) Casper let me pet her not once, but three times. However, she's not mellowing, because at one point she gave me an evil hiss. (Mark would pet her; she'd lean in. I'd pet her...hissss! Mark would pet her--lean in; I would pet her...). Casper has disdain for all things a "common" cat would slaver over. Note her below, hanging out next to a bowl of chicken wings, which she never even SNIFFED!  


Martha and Hilary have adopted two cats from us. Little yellow Max was actually rescued by Martha, who turned him over to me for about two days before she and Hilary decided they wanted to keep him. Then Max pestered Casper so, they felt he needed playmate, so they adopted tiger Sam (who, believe it or not, is brother to Rocket). Since then, everyone has lived happily ever after.

Max (left) and Sam.