Diagnosis: Orange.
You may wonder, what does that imply? Uh. Well, my name is Fiddle, but they call me “Fiddlesticks” because I’m always getting myself into some kind of conundrum… or “Goldfish” because I’m pretty sure I have about a five-second memory.
I’m one year old, so technically not a kitten, but still absolutely a li’l baby boy. I like to be held and will purr so loudly that people from the next neighborhood over will hear it. I pass the “dangle test” with flying colors: if you pick me up and let my back legs dangle, I’ll just chill there. You can even sway me around (gently, of course) and make me do the hula. I’m wicked soft and wicked sweet and lots and lots of fun.
There are some orange cats who are just orange of fur. Totally typical cats who just happen to be orange. Me? I’m orange to the core. Orange of brain and orange of heart. I’m curious and sweet and cuddly and playful and outgoing and also an engineer of chaos. Where’s Fiddle? idk, I probably figured out a way to get up into the ceiling or into a cabinet or possibly opened a portal to another dimension and am causing havoc in Narnia.
Now, when it comes to other cats… I think the easiest option would be for me to be an only cat. I get along with dogs! But other cats… I might do well with another cat who likes rough-and-tumble play and has a high threshold for annoyance. But, I confess, I’ve been known to chase, pester, and pick on cats who are not interested in playing my games, and I’m not the best at taking “no” for an answer.
Most of the time, though, humans don’t say ‘no’ to me. I mean, look at me! Could YOU refuse this face? And that’s why they’re my favorite.
Would you like to be my human? We could be the best of friends! If you like orange boys, I’m ten thousand percent your guy.
My name is Fiddle, I’m a year old, and I’m neutered, up to date on shots, and fully vetted.
