Shnarf

I (almost) remember a poem which seems apt (perhaps):
My cat is the cat,
the cat of all cats,
for no cat is more a cat
than my cat.
If any cat were to try his catisms on my cat,
then my cat
would show that cat
where he was at,
would my cat...

I think it went something like that... I read it on a framed card in Spain, and couldn't find it repeated anywhere online (what?!).

Anyway, this is Shnarf (A.K.A. Miss Moneypenny): she was yawning, but looks more like she is laughing/singing/screaming.
Shnarf is officially my cat! When I was younger, my brothers and I each had a cat that we called our own, and she is my cat. She is an aged creature: 16 years old I believe, but doesn't really seem her age (in appearance or character). Her back is slumping slightly, and she's missing one of her canines, but she's otherwise very healthy. Her colours have faded slightly so she looks a bit more grey, but not dramatically. She snores in a very cute way, so even though she often hides when she sleeps, you can usually find her by listening carefully.

There are cats and there are cats; she is definitely the former.