Meet Quigley

Quigley’s story is an interesting one. I’ll start off with introducing him as Browning’s son. Yes, this big ass fluffy stupid white cat is a product of Browning. I’ll follow that introduction with how I saved his life.


Quigley was meant to be a ranch cat. I quickly came to my senses when I put the dangers of South Texas predators together with a white ass cat that had no chance to ever blend in with his surroundings. At the time, my dad didn’t want me to have any more cats and he was going to try (using that word because there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d ever listen) to make me give him away. Who in their right mind would want this white cat? Being the quick thinker and survivalist that I am, I decided to name this cat that nobody wanted Quigley, after my dad’s favorite movie character played by Tom Selleck. I mean, why would he want to get rid of Quigley? It’d be like trying to make me get rid of something named…Blade.

If I could compare Quigley to a Care Bear, he’d be Tenderheart. I truly believe that, unlike Browning’s, Quigley’s heart is pure. Seriously, this cat’s brain is filled with nothing more than rainbows and fluffy bunnies all the time. He never wants to make me upset or give me any reason to kick him out on the streets because I’m the lady that turns on the faucet water every morning for him to drink from. His demands are simple, and I have no problem making him happy. He rarely does anything wrong…I say rarely because he’s still a cat, and therefore, being a dick is still in his genes. The one thing I yell at him for is scratching at door frames.

Life with Quigley is like living with Drew Barrymore in 50 First Dates. Every day he forgets who I am, and every day when I come home, it takes him about an hour to realize that I’m not evil and not a crazy stranger trying to kidnap him. Unlike Browning, he doesn’t like being cuddled or held. He likes to be petted, but only when he feels comfortable around you…which is essentially never, so that’s okay.

Like Drew Barrymore, Quigley is easily confused. He’ll walk out of my room and into the kitchen and sit there crying until either Browning or I goes and saves him. I’ve lived in this apartment for 8 months, and he still has no idea where he’s going when he leaves my bedroom.

Some of Quigley’s favorite things are:

  • drinking water
  • drinking water from his bowl
  • drinking water from my sink
  • drinking water from my toilet
  • drinking water from my shower
  • drinking water from my glass
  • following Browning around

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