Meet Yogi (aka: Yogurt; Go-gurt; Yoges; Yodda; Jabba the Hut; Morris, Duder; Yogee-Pa-Togee; Sits with a Thud; Stop-Drop-Roll; and Mister I Like to Watch Romantic Comedies).
Yogi came into my life about eleven years ago as a little tiny kitten who fit in the palm of my hand. He was my first cat "owning" experience and has been one of the purest forms of entertainment I have ever had. I didn't realize the cat owning experience would mean he owns me. Today he weighs in at close to 19 pounds with paws the size of a small lion.
Yogurt likes people a lot, as long as they don't touch him. He is definitely a Momma's boy as we have been constant companions from the beginning of his life. Since I didn't know much about cats when I got him, I treated him like a dog in the beginning and he accompanied me to work on a leash, riding on my shoulders in the car as I drove. That got more looks than the vehicle wrap. Of course, that was also before he became ginormous and he figured out he was a cat.
Nowadays, we wrestle for pillow space at night and he usually wins, we go on occasional walks and I usually have to carry him home, and he lays on the arm of the recliner in the mornings to drink coffee with his other mom. He is pretty laid back except for those manic moments when something wild possesses him and he takes off for no reason like a bat out of hell, tearing across the wood floors at high speed, then coming to a screeching halt with a belly dive and paws spread out to spin him around 180 degrees. HILARIOUS!!!