One day in Year 12 a classmate brought to school a very small very furry kitten that she had found hanging around the back door of the bakery where she worked. My family's cat had been put down earlier in the year, so I volunteered to give the little guy a home. Twelve years later Ozzy (as I named him) is still a fixture at my parent's house, dividing his time between snoozing in front of the heater and shedding huge dusty chunks of fur on the soft furnishings. I was around there last night and he looked at me with his big yellow eyes, purred at the sight of his true owner and master, then coughed up a particularly revolting hairball.
About two seconds after I took this photo my dad trod on Ozzy's tail. This is an inevitable consequence of having a cat that is the same colour as the carpet.