I share my home with a vigorous, young male tabby cat named Tigger. He is totally impervious to my sometimes peevish disposition, which is just as well. I don’t have to ask his forgiveness for my eccentricities. He couldn’t care less if I neglect to vacuum or dust. So long as he can climb into my arms when he feels like getting his ears scratched and I feed him twice a day, he’s a happy camper. And he hasn’t lost his kittenish playfulness, so I must toss a fuzzy ball once in awhile for him to chase. He taught himself to retrieve it and drop it at my feet when he wants to run some more. This is well, too, because, being an indoor cat now, he needs the exercise he no longer gets chasing birds and such outside.