I wouldn't have chosen him, or any other cat. But he came with the girl, and it's almost the only thing I wasn't keen on.
I've tried to oust him. In my way.
But cats only like people who don't like them - they relate to default distain - so he's all over me at any stationery moment.
Frank thinks William is a dog. Just like he thinks I am a dog and even Jess; who anyone can see is actually a rather exceptional human being.
But he can't get why he doesn't play.
Frank tries every day, in his way.
He crouches, growls his practice growl and then belps, which is like barking only much more like a girly yelp. William is not down with this.
But, to his credit, he's not one to back down.
I was here first. She chose me before you, or you, he projects, firing me a glance of hateful adoration. I will not be intimidated. And where's my supper?, it's close on four.
Frank is ill equipped for this, or any, level of emotional warfare. Belps turn to wines. Often accompanied by a paw over the snout gesture, and eventually, ruefully, Frank fakes interest in the nearby floor and sniffs his retreat. William watches, tuts silently and plods away.
Today the aforementioned self assurance kept Frank all up in Williams grill.
You do know I did battle with a Toy Poodle down the wreck, don't you Willy? I almost won too.
So, yuknow, what YOU gonna do about it th....
Shit. Will. That's my nose, that is. Cheap shot, it's sodding massive. Aw, frig, blood and everything.