I decided to not get a new pet cat after I watched my last one suffer for weeks after my drunk uncle ran over his hind leg with his car in the garage. At some point the vet recommended to euthanize him since instead of getting better, he got worse and worse, with his leg not healing at all. That was 18 years ago.

I never gave him a name. Other people just called him "your cat" and I was calling him "my cat." I trained him to come to me with an unusual whistle sound from when he was only about a month old. If he heard me making that sound, he would stop whatever he was doing and rush to jump on my arms. That always made it easy to find him, no matter where he was hiding. I honestly don't remember even a single instance where he didn't rush to me when I called him. I had two other cats before that, but they always mostly minded their own business. They ran off one day and never came back. He always hung around. I remember playing point and click adventures every night for hours on end with him on my lap. Sometimes I would move the mouse cursor left and right and watch him follow it with his head. He didn't like strangers though if I wasn't nearby and would hide behind furniture for a while before he'd finally come out and observe from a distance. I never wanted another pet after he died.

That's my Frobozz Story. I guess that since he didn't have a name, that would make it a My Cat Story.