Here is an old photo of Marlowe bullying his dog, one of his favorite pastimes--along with stealing cauliflower, bossing around monkeys, hanging around with his good friend Mithrandir, and generally being about the most awesome cat I have ever met.
He came into our house in 2000, as a smallish six-month-old kitten. I was doing rescue work for the Briard Club of America and the English Mastiff Club of America in those days, and one of my duties was to check the North Las Vegas shelter for abandoned or lost dogs. At that time, one must walk through the cat room to get to the dog room, and as I was doing so, I felt a tug upon my jeans.
When I looked down, I realized that a small person with very large orange eyes had reached a tiny paw through the mesh of his cage and tagged me.
He didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. We regarded each other silently for a moment, and then I shrugged and said, "All right, I'll call my husband."
This is not the greatest month ever.