He's a British Shorthair, and he's the best cat in the world. I got him at a discount because he was defective. His twin brother is a world champion. Oliver is knock-kneed, so no one wanted him. Except me, that is. He's super cuddly and warm, and his fur is so thick, it's feels kind of sponge-y. It makes him extra squeezable.
He nibbles on our toes in the mornings to remind us to feed him (he's on a very regimented diet, because he's kind of chunky). He has a few dog-like habits, too. For instance, he likes to cover up his food after he eats some of it, and he comes when we call him, no matter where he is in the house.
Most of the time you see this breed, they're gray. But not Oliver. He's orange. He likes to sit in cardboard boxes. He especially likes to hang out in areas where he thinks he's camouflaged. We keep him around because he matches our hardwood floors.
He likes to spy on his toy mouse through this little window. If he can't quite see it, it makes him want it more. He likes a challenge.
This striped chair is one of his favorite spots. He gradually sinks down in between the cushion and the back of the chair, and has to re-situate himself. Sometimes, if he's really comfortable, he drools a little bit.
Maybe you'll be lucky enough to meet him one day. If not, I'm so sorry for you. You're really missing out.