Our cats are not perfect.

Cats are smart. So damn smart. 

This is Tobi, one of our two new cats, cuddling with my kids and with his brother, Pluto. 

In my son's case, he was sick at the time. Lying on the couch with fever, Tobi would curl into Charlie's body and purr as if he knew Charlie needed a little love. He did the same when my wife, Elysha, was suffering from a concussion, and when my daughter, Clara, was battling the stomach bug. In each case, Tobi (and to a lesser degree his brother) gravitated to the person in the house who was most ill and in need of love.  

At one point, as he was being cuddled by Tobi, Charlie said, "I think I'll smile forever."

The cats also seem to understand the difference between adults and children. When the cats are with me or my wife, they will often bat our hands with their paws and playfully (and sometimes painfully) bite our fingers, hands, and (terrifyingly) our chins. 

But nether cat has ever bitten or clawed one of our kids, and the same was true for our former cat, Owen, who passed away last year. He was not averse to biting me or my wife when he was overstimulated, but he never bit either one of the kids, regardless of how roughly they may have treated him.  

Brilliant animals. So intuitive. Also more than willing to knock everything off the counter, sneak outside, climb into my daughter's box spring, and eat all the dog's food instead of their own, so not perfect.

But close enough.