Big D is a big ole softie. Sure, he might claim the pets annoy him. He might declare that he wouldn't miss them if they were gone. But, deep down, he loves them. They entertain him when he's bored. They love on him when he's lonely.
During the course of our twenty years together, we've had numerous pets. And, all but one, were sweet gifts from him. Saturday, he did it again. We were out doing errands, which included grocery shopping for the animals. On weekends, animal control has animals for adoption on display. There was an adorable black kitten who was really selling herself to Big D. Following him around, climbing up the cage to grab his attention, meowing to him. She wanted to come home with him. As we were walking back to the car, he said that after our errands, he wanted to come back to see about her. Uh, what? Seriously? Ok!
Cleo is supposed to be Lamb's pet. Sadly, I am the only person she's nice to all the time. I am her big, soft, squishy pillow. It always makes Lamb sad. I tell Lamb that it's her daddy's fault. Oh, and her brother's too. It's little comfort.
So, we do go back. And the little black kitten is still there. While we were waiting for the adoption volunteers, another couple asked to hold our kitten. Big D was disappointed. If it was meant to be, they'll put her up, I told us. In the meantime, Big D was looking at the other kittens. He found this gray one who was slightly older and already neutered. By the time the couple had put down our black kitten, Big D had changed his mind. I loved the little baby but I was also ok with getting an older one & having the peace of mind of it already being fixed.
So we did it. We crazy kids came home with a new pet. The kids were flabbergasted. They never in a million years thought we'd come home with a new family member.

They begged their daddy to not rough-house with this one. They want him to be their cuddle bug. He's a wily one. Right now he's more interested in exploring and hiding from the big guy than cuddling. He's also interested in PEOPLE food. I've never had a cat who wanted what we eat. He about attacked Bear for his poptart. We gave him some of his food to appease him. Don't worry, he won't always eat on Bear's lap.

It was a rough first night. First, we had to name him. That was difficult (cough, cough, Bear who would only agree to Julius which none of us liked). We went from Spartacus to Marc Antony to Caesar (homage to Cleo) to Bob (as in Bob Cat) to Buddy to his final name: Elvis. You know, because he looks a tad lion-like and the lion is king of the jungle. We are from Memphis and Elvis is the king of rock 'n roll.
It was also difficult because he was terrified of Ty. Ty was wanting to teach him the rules. Elvis wanted Cleo to love him. Cleo wanted No.Part.Of.This.Beast.
Elvis has now accepted Ty, somewhat. He'll consent to touching noses, but he still won't cuddle nor play.

For Elvis's protection (& because he isn't 100% trained) he sleeps in the kids' bathroom at night. We call it Graceland. Saturday, he was perfect. Last night? Not so much. We were wondering if he could meow before Sunday night. He's a strong, loud little thing. Sure can't tell it by looking at him.
Cleo? Well, sadly, we haven't seen too much of her. This has pretty much been her look since we came home Saturday. Elvis just wants to be her friend. She lets him know in no uncertain terms that he needs to back off her. She's a diva. She might come around.

In ten years or so.