See the introduction to this series of posts.
At almost 4, Freya is the oldest of my two cats, the middle of the three cats that DH-to-be and I share. I've had her since she was a 7 week old ball of fluff. She has the build of a small tiger, and regularly brings home whatever the catch of the week is in the nearby field. She's a fiesty little girl, just like her human mother, and loves to chomp hands.
Odin was a foundling. Two and a half years ago, we heard a mew coming from outside the window. Investigation revealed a tiny kitten, just 3 weeks old, who had wandered away from his mother. Other people had come over to look, and I feared that there were enough humans around to scare off his mother, a stray. Since he was so young, he had to be bottle-fed for the next month before we could wean him onto solid food. My mother graciously "babysat" during the week while I worked to make sure that he was warm and fed. He's the youngest of our three cats, and the one most likely to chase someone else through the house. He thinks he's playing; they seem to have other ideas. He's also a big fuzzy mama's boy, and will usually curl up for a nap in whatever room I'm working in.
I don't have a soul card yet for our third cat; she and I have only been in the same house for about 6 months.