This is the Dread Boston Salty, 27 pounds of sheer Boston goodness and every inch a terrier, my husband's Christmas present in 1998. He always has a lecherous look to him. He's a major flirt and here is saying, "Howa YOU doin'?"
This is my alpha cat Sabrina, whose everyday name is Dolly. She rules the Ferocious Feline Bebop Trio with an iron paw, and keeps everyone (including Salty) in line. Her litter was her and two coal-black brothers, and when I went to pick one out she was beating the hell out of the two of 'em. I had to have her. Her coloring really is that variegated - she looks like someone took a calico, shaved it, put the hair in a bag, shook it up, and glued it back on.
This is Tabitha, familiarly known as Spot. (This picture doesn't show it, but she has a big circle on each flank.) She was a feral kitten (I had to pounce on her and jam her inside my jacket to get her home, and to this day have the scars to show for that maneuver) and at 12 is still half-wild, and doesn't like to pose for pictures. She knows how gorgeous she is.
And this is Dennis, a hugh and series lover boy. He taught Salty everything, including the fact that showing your belly fur gets the ladies every time. He walked in one Friday morning back in 1994 while I was painting the kitchen and had the doors and windows open, and started eating the girls' food. He got his name because that night I was leafing through the name book drinking a glass of merlot and had Dennis Miller on for background, and I found the entry for "Dennis" that said it meant "lover of fine wine," and just then the cat came over and knocked over my wine glass. It was a convergence of circumstance that could not be resisted.
And just to be gratuitous, this is Dennis practicing the art of not being seen. Now stop looking, or he'll show you his belly fur.