I do have a neat story about a cat I had growing up. He was a feral cat who was just short of being a year old named Max. Our vet caught him, and called us asking if we would take him. Since my Mom has the same SUCKER tattoo on her forehead that I do, we drove up there, and soon had an insane kitty. I was about 6 when we got him, so we grew up together. He loved me best, so he slept with me every night. And most of those nights I woke up with blood dripping off me because I dared to move in my sleep, but he was cute, so I didn't care.

He used to love to bring us animals. And not the way you would think a feral cat would - he brought them in live and released them. Nearly every day I'd come home from daycare to watch a bird fly around our living room or see a chipmunk zoom by. He would bring in lizards that still had their tails attached (hows's that for impressive?), and he brought in frogs and would drop them in his water dish. His favorite animals to bring in were baby possums, as we had a next door neighbor who would shoot the adults and leave the babies to die (>_<!!!!). He would bring them in and put him by his food bowl and encourage them to eat. One time, Mom woke up at about 2 am, went into the bathroom, and saw a baby possum hanging upside down from the toilet.

My favorite story of his is the time I went to my bedroom, and saw what I thought was a dead squirrel outside my room. I went and told Mom, and she said "We'll wait til Dad gets home and let him clean it up." Dad came home about 15 minutes later, and I went and showed him the dead squirrel.

Turns out flying squirrels play dead. It took my Dad over an hour to catch him. We still have no idea how Max accomplished it. He did look REALLY proud of himself.