They were loving brothers their whole lives. Boots was so big and rather fierce towards the neighborhood dogs. They would walk AROUND him on the sidewalk. Spats would lay on top of the fridge, hang over one corner and look like a gargoyle. We also trained them to dance for treats, and they loved the little sticky octopus things that would walk down a wall. They were great cats.
They also would do things like jump on the table, or rub the ribbon edge of a blanket on their teeth (right next to your ear), leave me dead things on the porch while I was running to catch the bus in high school, meow to go out and come in (They were indoor/outdoor - out as they desired during the day but in at night). They did love this scratching post - and would sleep in it often.
When they were older, my brother moved back home and brought his two cats. A large, white, dumb cat named Turbo, and a small, multicolored pscyho cat named Shadow. Boots and Spats tolerated them, but they definitely still ruled the roost.
Spats died first, and then boots later on. My mother spoke about getting a kitten, but never did. We tend to have long lived cats in our family, and I think she was worried it would outlive her.
I really want a cat. My youngest really wants a cat. Instead, I have two boxer/hound mixes, who are loving and wonderful in their own way, but I really, really want a cat. Or actually, what I really want is my cats, back again.