When Summer spoke up, he pulled away a bit, but kept his hands on her shoulders, smile placed upon his face. “If you don’t mind me saying, if I didn’t have cats, I might have had to get one to make some use of the catnip. And honestly, I wouldn’t be completely against that.” Robert’s thoughts jumbled when Summer mentioned ‘moggie’ cats. What in heaven’s name was a ‘moggie’ cat? “A moggie cat? You mean like… a cross-breed, correct? Is that a new word for that, because I’m unaware of what that term means.”
“No, a moggie is — it’s to cats what mutt is to dogs. I mean, I guess a cross-breed would be a moggie, but it’s derived from mongrel. So it’s more cats whose heritage is just whatever. All four of mine are just whatever, street cat types.” Summer fumbled in her pocket for her smartphone. “Helios doesn’t look it, though. He’s a Ragdoll throwback, I think. All his sibs were black and shorthaired, and he’s got six inch deep fur.” She unlocked the phone screen, and then turned it to Robert. “See?”
“The word cross-breed works just as well when you think about it. I understand where they get the term from, but it seems more… degrading to them, than just simply calling them a cross-breed. Considering cross-breed could mean more than just two types of cat.” Instead of just looking at the phone screen, Robert took the phone right from Summer’s hands, looking at the picture more closely. “A lovely feline. Truthfully, I don’t care too much what breed I get, as long as they’re in need of help, a good home, and I know how to take care of that certain breed.”
“I’ve never had a purebred at all. I love my kitties for their sweet stinker hearts and personalities, and I just know too damn much about how some of the breeds get fixed. Just, like … you know, one of the up and coming cat breeds is the Munchkin, the ones with the dachshund leg mutation? And I can’t stand that, actually, because there’s health problems associated with it, but nobody seems to care, it’s all about how cute they are with their little short legs. Same like Persians, with the flat faces, and those poor kitties struggle with nasal problems, and it’s just wrong.” She spread her hands, looking down into the palms. “Almost all the cats I’ve ever had have been strays or adopted animal rescue kittens — in some cases literally. Doc and Kronos were born basically on my doorstep.”
It occurred to her that she was babbling again. “Sorry. Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away talking about my furry stinkers.”