Stud Muffin

Billy Ray Cyrus lives at my house and it’s true love! My achy breaky heart has been pounding since I first spotted him one Sunday. One bar of rhythm and blues and I was hooked. His soulful eyes, so full of fun & sweet expression, captivated me. Such soft, sweet- smelling fur. He dances on feet that tread like a gazelle's. His perfectly shaped ears fit closely against his head. Billy Ray Cyrus is my daughter's Scottish Fold cat. (Nikeda I’ll-B-Yours).
She'd been at me for at least eighteen months to buy one for her, but these kittens were not as easy to acquire as a really nifty country and western outfit. Then we found him! Stephanie was determined to have him and, between her and his breeder, I was co-erced. All the articles I've read about Folds are true. He is the sweetest thing, full of wide-eyed innocence, while at the same time being an absolute rat bag. He looks like Benny Hill in that stupid grey beret that Benny used to wear pulled down low over his ears. His head pops up out of the boxes placed around the house for feline adventure playground equipment as if to say, "Here I am. I'll be yours!” (You named him well, Collin).
He is as cute as a button and extremely affectionate. He wraps his front legs around our necks and buries his head under our chins, purring like mad. He is so soft. My Burmese girls have their noses well and truly out of joint. Their catnip mice, previously so well hidden all over the house, have been ousted and killed a thousand times over. Billy loves to tease the girls by racing around holding the mice in his mouth by their tails. The girls sit at the highest vantage points watching him with baleful eyes.
We introduced them by leaving Billy Ray in a carrier in the lounge room while we watched television. The girls hissed and booed at him, making terrible innuendo about his Caledonian origins (they're racist) and much more "pointed" comments about those things on the top of his head. He assured them that his ears worked well, that he could indeed hear them and then he settled down for a good wash and a nap. They continued to insult him. He ignored them. You'd think that they'd be used to strange looking pusses after living with three Manx but, upon reflection, they say rude things about them too!! Billy Ray now strolls nonchalantly about the house and pays absolutely no attention to them, treating them with the distain he thinks they deserve. Nothing fazes him. To be on the safe side, though, he sleeps with Stephanie while they spend the night in front of the heater.
Billy does not like my "Group 1 Black Smoke". She is my Keeshond dog, Bobbie, and has been dubbed such by the regulars at the week-end shows she almost always attends. He sidles up to her, fluffed up to twice his size spitting and hissing, so she averts her head and looks at the floor. Avoid eye contact at all costs. "Och, aye, lassie - I'll turn yae intae haggis afore mae long!" Discretion being the better part of valour, Bobbie breaks the front door down trying to leave the house. Haggis is not one of her favourite dishes, particularly when she is to be the main ingredient.
Well, Billy Ray won't be able to caterwaul like his name sake for much longer. There is a lady vet just up the high road a wee bit and she plans to take a wee snip, curtailing Billy Ray's future musical career for good!
Unless, of course, he'd be content to harmonise "Auld Lang Syne" in top C.