#brown british shorthair cat

[salman-bloch]

Top 6 Most Popular Cat Types and Breeds in All World? March 4, 2024 In Russia, Some People believe that having a white. cat Your name brings wealth and Prosperity, Dr Hart says. There Sometimes) Something about a cat’s Coat color evokes a Perceived Personality. For Example, calico are consider maschivous and chatty.https://shorturl.at/dhMOU

[cherryandpudding]

Happy 1st Birthday Pudding Bear!

🤎🤎🤎🎂

[4yuel]

[noirgasmweetheart]

Lorre's Cat Café: Hans ☹️

Something was seriously wrong with this cat.

Hans was always so shy and unassuming. When a ruthless predator was killing and eating kittens around the city, we all thought it was a dog, or some wild animal. Imagine our shock when we caught this British short-hair in the act on Avenue M.

In one visit to the vet, Hans flipped between being meek and scared to growling and hissing like a cobra. He didn't have Rabies. We never found out what was wrong with him. We don't know anything about his past, if he had abusive owners, or was exposed to some chemicals or virus the vet couldn't detect.

It goes without saying that Hans had to be put down.

We rarely talk about Hans for obvious reasons. He really only comes up when everyone is in a very grim mood. He's remembered mainly as a cautionary tale, and out of pity.

[a-secretkey]

oage_cat

[one-against-an-army]

[epiphlyte]

trying to post on my phone, let's see how that goes! i've been practically buried in schoolwork since spring break ended, but here's an assignment i can actually share with you all :) enjoy these semi-realistic (as well as silly) cats until i have time to make fandom/personal art again!

i might try and compile another art dump in the time being, as after all i am trying to use this blog as a record of sorts. see you then! /fades into the void/

[catsiam]

[baby-scranner]

week 6

[polarisbear]

lil creatures <3 (and some i don’t know… hermits?) (Really detailed image description below)

a drawing of geminitay, pearlescentmoon, zombiecleo, stressmonster101, and false symmetry posing in a line. they’re in their season 10 outfits or slightly altered versions of their normal skins.

gem is posing with a diamond sword across her shoulders and wormy snail, and the orange and yellow lighthouse goldfish hanging out behind her. she’s in her pirate skin with magic hair ending in water, with shark teeth, slitted eyes and claws. she has a very toothy grin and desaturated palette.

pearl is flicking up the brim of her hat while holding onto the strap of her messenger bag. pogt is peeking out behind pearl, with a messenger pigeon on her hat. she’s in her postmaster skin with an undershirt on, a jacket tied around her waist, and hiking boots. the bag has more celestial details. she has a relaxed smirk and a very warm palette.

cleo carrying atlas, an orange cat, and a tray holding enchanted books and a tall, teal glass. she has on flowers in her hair, a sleeveless button up, a torn off-the-shoulder shirt, a high-waisted pencil skirt, and dress shoes. she looks exasperated and she has a cool palette.

stress is proudly holding up a pile of mud with roots and bricks sticking out of it with madame meepless, a gray british shorthair, looking up at stress. she’s wearing a pink-purple-teal flower crown, a white shirt, overalls with patches and one leg short and the other leg tucked in her black rain boots, and a bright pink tracksuit jacket on top. she’s covered in mud and has a very vibrant color palette.

false is holding a briefcase and a diamond shovel casually, with the shovel on the ground. she has on the minister hat with red and white goggles acting as the ribbon, a red, poorly tied tie, an untucked red-and-white striped shirt, a dark green blazer with gold buttons, fancy shorts with a white 2nd shorts underneath, and brown boots with socks. she’s looking confidently off to the side and has a warm, but muted, palette.

[fox-guardian]

[ID: Digital drawings of the OIAR staff from The Magnus Protocol as anthropomorphic cats on a gray background. They are all full body drawings. Sam is a black and white tuxedo cat, Alice is an orange and white cat with a bob tail, Celia is a Cornish Rex with a purple and white mottled "salty licorice" coat. Teddy is a brown British shorthair, Colin is a light brown Lykoi, Gwen is a fluffy diluted calico, and Lena is a shorthaired grey tabby with a bob tail.

The first image shows Sam, Alice, and Celia. Sam is shorter and fat, and he has curly black hair, and he is smiling with his hand held in front of him lightly touching. He is wearing a cream mockneck shirt, dark brown cardigan, and dark red trousers. Alice is tall and lanky, and she has shaggy light brown hair with faded pink tips, two pairs of silver earrings and snakebites, and she is wearing a burgundy bra, a patchwork skirt made of flannels in shades of gray, brown, and pink, a few bracelets, and pink cat-eye glasses and pink painted claws. She is slouching slightly with one arm crossed over the other, smiling and waving. Celia is slightly less tall and slim, and has short black hair, gold industrial piercings, X-shaped earrings and snakebite studs. She is wearing a light green button-down, purple vest with gold buttons, dark green trousers, a black cuff on her wrist, and rectangular glasses. She is standing and facing slightly to the side, with one hand around her back holding her other arm while that hand fidgets.

The second image is of Teddy and Colin. Teddy is fat and has a goatee and mustache, and small gold hoop earrings. He is wearing a gold and brown argyle sweater vest, a pale yellow button-down, a gold tie, and brown belt and trousers. He is smiling and waving with his other hand holding onto the side of his belt. Colin is skinny with pale skin visible through patches of fur, and he has a mustache, large cat whiskers, blue eyes, and small silver earrings. He is wearing a yellow t-shirt under a blue button-down and light brown hoodie, blue jeans with brown knee patches, a couple bracelets, and rectangular glasses with yellow lenses. He is snarling and hunched with his ears back and claws bared, looking furious.

The third image shows Gwen and Lena. Gwen is shorter and mid-sized with long blonde hair in a ponytail, and she is wearing a white button-down, gray sweater, and black pencil skirt. Her hands are balled into fists at her sides and looks annoyed at the viewer. Lena is taller and slim, with light brown hair in a bun, and silver oval glasses on a chain. She is wearing a red button-down, a brown belt, and white trousers. She has a neutral expression and one arm crossed over the other while the free hand lifted and fidgeting with her claws.

The fourth image is a lineup of all of them. In order: Sam, Alice, Celia, Gwen, Colin, Teddy, Lena. end ID]

~~~~

the magnyas protocol. protocat. catocol. catnus protocol. k. kitties <3

[honestsycrets]

Amor y Respeto II: Corazón [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

chapter I: mi alma

❛ pairing | miguel o’hara x reader

❛ type | continuation of one shot.

❛ summary | you're trying to forget miguel with hobie's help on the field. but miguel isn't quite ready to let go.

❛ tags | jealousy, latina reader, slightly nsfw (only nudity), spanish is not translated, some mention of blood and wounds, violence, some paranoia, miguel is not pleased, an attempt was made at british slang, some creative liberties.

❛ sy’s notes | gif credit to aehanse. a little reference to gilgamesh with a golden bull in this chapter because i wanted a simple anomaly and for some reason a golden bull just makes me giggle a bit.

Miguel only left Nueva York for very important reasons. Very important reasons usually entailed a little stress relief at the end of a very stressful day. Very important reasons like your gentle fingertips running over his sweaty chest. Very important reasons like your plush lips wrapped around his--

“No chance,” Lyla chittered in his ear. “There’s the whole ‘I don’t love you’ thing. And that kiss?” 

A headache was brewing: everything twinkled, glistened, and refracted light.

“I was there, Lyla. Could do without the reminder.” 

“Really because--” 

“I can fix it,” Miguel growled, clawing past the tall buildings rife with beautiful flowers. It was your favorite time of year. The perfect time to go to the balcony and wait for him to follow behind, to pick off the yellow pollen that dusted his burnt umber hair.

When he finally breached your plant-filled balcony, the window was open despite his warnings to keep it closed. You loved the light and drew the blinds open day by day to let in the bright light of the day. In contrast, he could have done without the bright light streaming in during his early morning visits. That wasn’t wholly the issue. The issue was anyone who wanted to watch you sleep in your love-rustled sheets could. He could.

Miguel’s hands hooked on his slender hips. He glanced at the offensive presence of a singular powdery pink rose in a vividly graffitied cup that he hadn’t given you. He didn't need to guess to know who had. As your shorthair cat trotted into your bedroom, he realized that the rest of the apartment was empty. He wouldn’t be mewing at him if you were singing in the kitchen and making cookies that he shouldn’t eat. It's little, you would guilt him and squish a bite-sized morsel in his mouth. 

Miguel jerked his head to the side and threw a look at Lyla. She threw up her hands in response. They came to the same conclusion. “The roof?” 

There wasn't a worse time to climb the last few floors of your apartment. Light battered his senses as the sun crested past the rooftops of your city and emitted pastel crystal hues. Soon, the night would fall on your busy city and cloak it in darkness. In the darkness, problems always arose.

"Se dice-- never mind, it's a pastellio," you brushed off the small chunks of crystal that nipped at your forearms and picked a chunk up off of a paper-thin napkin. The crumbly remnants held their own memories. Memories of your fingers sealing pastry dough over a cool picadillo, arguing about the quality of HQ cafeteria’s empanadas all by yourself despite knowing that he liked them. They didn’t taste the same lately.

“Tastes like a meat pie,” Hobie waggled a crusty corner. “Must be a meat pie.” 

You brought the rim of an opaque brown glass bottle to your lips. The malt drink coursed down your throat slowly, leaving your throat cool and refreshed. Just the way you wanted to feel after a long day of work. “If that’s a meat pie, this is beer.” 

Hobie-- Miguel sneered. There had some alternative, impure reason he was here. Maybe it was to piss him off, to distract him from the work really at hand. If that was it, he lamented, he was doing a good job. Why else would he be here?

“A kiddy beer,” he flicked over one of his empty beer bottles. “Listen. You coming to see the concert?” 

“Whose?” 

“Mines, who else?” he answered. “Gwen’ll be there.” 

“It’s not really my scene, Hobie,” you said. “Don't you think I’m a bit old for that sort of thing?” 

“Old?” Hobie chirped after you. You swayed under the force of his playful punch to your shoulder and returned one to his willowy arm. Your eyes turned back to the crystalized sun dipping beneath the horizon. He sucked his tongue against the roof of his tongue. “Letting that muppet shoot his cum in ya is the only thing that’s gonna make you old. Complicit. You wanna be complicit?” 

“¡Fo! Gross, stop,” you dropped your drink to the side and flopped back onto the unforgiving concrete roof. But he had a point, your palm migrated over your belly. His spunk was probably still wiggling around in your stomach. Miguel simpered in the shadows.

“You never see these autocrats for who they are," he lamented.

“It has nothing to do with… Hobie. Hobie, my love isn’t politic--”

“Everything is political.” 

“Hobie, I take care of him-- them,” you motioned to your city, glittering in the fading sunlight. “For love and laughter. That’s what we all deserve. Love and laughter. Miguel wants it too, he’s just,” Incapable or unwilling, you suppressed. “Complicated.” 

“Complicated,” Hobie spat out as though it offended him. “It ain't complicated to me. He don’t love you. Half the time he don’t even like you.” 

“But I love him.” 

“His love? It ain’t enough.” 

“It matters to me.” 

A low growl emanated from his deep chest. It was enough to cause your heads to wrack around in his direction. Miguel steeled his body against the wall he dangled from, shielded in the dark crystally shadows of a mural.

“Should we--” you stared at the wall, eyes narrowing.

Fuck.

“Ain’t nothing to be worried about. Probably a rat— a big rat,” Hobie lurched over your body. His long and lanky arms caged your body beneath him. It was a universe apart from Miguel’s well-corded arms, broad and strong. Arms that, at the moment, Miguel used not to spring off the wall.

“It’s his muscles.”

“¡Ay cállate! Why is it always his muscles?” You ruptured into laughter and reached up to push him away by his thick wicks. You crawled out from underneath Hobie and stretched out your arms behind your back. Tension unwound from Miguel with an exhale of stale air from his lungs.

“You got a type,” Hobie lazed his elbow over his knee. 

“You don’t know any of my exes, Hobie,” you swept up your trash and covered your head with your rebozo-like cowl. At that exact moment, your watch blared. “And you ain’t know mine, either.”

“Vente, Corazón. I have a call.”

Corazón?

“Can’t handle it yourself?” Hobie hopped up and adjusted his guitar, slouching off his shoulder. 

“Just because I can, doesn't mean I have to,” you took a step to the edge of the rooftop. You turned your hands up. “C'mon, I’ll even make you cookies.” 

Make him cookies. You would change out of your blood-smattered outfit into a little slip to make Hobie, a man that you knew he had a very poor opinion of, cookies. A man that was reckless in life, reckless in HQ, and would not take orders that didn’t benefit his perception of the world. His breathing hitched, heavy and sharp, to keep his rage in check. If you respected him, you would never invite Hobie anywhere near your apartment. Especially not at night. What were you thinking? 

“That your way of keeping me for the night?” Hobie asked. “Think I’ll get lucky?”

“Is it working?” 

You looked Hobie over once, starting at his boots and ending at Hobie’s pierced lip. Your lips budded in a terrible smile. A look that Miguel did not like, not at all. You turned and stepped off the building, out of his field of vision. Hobie followed soon after.

The sun faded far past the horizon, cloaking Miguel in solitary indigo darkness. His fingers teased the ochre face of his watch-- he had things to do.

You didn’t need backup. 

You crawled out of the rubble of one of your favorite flower shops. Bits of lavender crystal embedded in your arm drew blood down your arm. As of late, it felt as though you couldn’t do anything right. Hobie was a consistent fixture in your life and fixed the amateur mistakes you were making day by day without mentioning your incompetence. He was good to you.

This time was different. You recognized this anomaly from another time, but not another place. It was here, at the intersection of Cereza and Trini, that months ago that Miguel and you-- No, you did not need backup. You didn’t need him.

The thick, muscular leg of the stupid bull stormed by. The thing was comically obnoxious. Just as obnoxious as the ache in your chest every morning when you woke up alone in your bed with Miguel visiting… not even once in the past few days. You wondered if he even thought of you.

“Miss Spider lady, are you okay?” a little girl with thick brown pom-pom puff hair and the warmest caramel eyes asked. Usually, she sold singular flowers at the cash register of her parent’s shop. You hated to think what hardship would come to them because of your inadequacy. If you could control your emotions, as Miguel rang true, this never would have happened.

“Si, si, Zaniah,” your head spun with the pain radiating from your side. You broke something, and of course, it wasn’t healing. You blamed him. Your feet stumbled forward in a line. You didn’t want to see the headlines of this one. Most spiders dealt with villains worth the name, villains with prowess. You? A shiny fucking bull from heaven. “No te preocupes, go, go.” 

“Mami, mami!” the little girl shrieked and bolted, her flowy purple cape dissipated as she disappeared into the back. You felt bad for the mother that would have to deal with that for the next few days as you broke into a run, flexing your wrist for webbing. 

If you could just-- trip the damn thing. Then, somehow, with enough time you could… oh, you didn’t know, bind its legs? Or bind its legs first then tip? But where would you even tip without casualties? Maybe, if you were lucky, you could lure it to the river-- but that was on the outskirts of town. You were running out of time. You had to deal with it. Had to. What would that little girl think? What would Miguel think? 

“You sure you don’t need backup?” Lyla asked, her gilded frame bending at the waist. "Because you look like you need backup."

“Si,” you hissed. “I am sure, Lyla. I don’t need anyone. And I especially don't need Miguel. I got this.” 

Your red boots connected with its fuzzy back. Its great, golden chain skid across the concrete floor, emitting an awful hissing noise. You seized its collar and jammed your heels into its back to try and force the thing to heel. It wasn’t. Despite your strength, you weren’t strong enough to do it on your own. The pressure on the side of your rib cage was becoming immense. Breathing became a chore. 

“No you don’t,” she sang. 

It was moments later that the bull howled pitifully. It slid on its side, crunching old cars and taking out rusty street lamps under its thick muscle. Despite digging your heels in, the damn thing whirled you off like a children’s dreidel. The force of the impact thrust you off its back and into a rusty tow truck. The pain burned low in your back. Hobie: to the rescue again. At some point, you were going to have to give him something better than cookies.

“Get up,” rasped your backup, cloaked in vast dark blue and red. Not Hobie, then. Your hazy eyes were playing tricks on you. You heaved out rattly breaths as you obeyed, or tried to obey the dumb big man in your life.

It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Heavy and hard, your limbs fought the attempt to move. Before you could complain a minute further about how fucking infuriating it was to have him run to your aid, your world eclipsed into the darkness. 

You woke up with a pulsing headache and the very unwelcome sight of Jess. Through her yellowy glasses, you recognized her colorful kaleidoscope of emotions: annoyance, derision, and eventually… relief. It wasn’t the infirmary. The bed was too comfortable for that. You quickly realized that you were in his room with nothing but one of his annoying tech bandages mummified to your chest. You knew from that alone that you were in for it-- if not for her face becoming increasingly more stoic. They should have been siblings.

“You needed backup,” her arms encircled her belly. “Didn’t you?” 

Your eyes fell to the soft sheets that tickled your skin. Breathing was still hard, harder with the anxiety of knowing a lecture was headed your way. You couldn’t lie to Jess. Tears pricked your cheeks and you tried to steel your heart from them.

It was impossible. His room overwhelmed you: from his rich scent that perfumed the sheets you laid on to the air you breathed. He was close by. That alone was more stress than you could handle.

“I know Jess. I needed backup. Pero, the anomaly, it was-- I thought I could handle it.” 

“Pero nothing,” she held a gloved hand up. “Girl, I don’t need your excuses.” 

“But I’ve called Hobie too much this week.” 

“Is Hobie the only one here? You could have called me. Or-- and I’m just being crazy here. Miguel? Your man?” she rolled her head toward the back of the room. She must not have heard. You followed her gaze to where he stood, his uniform flopped unceremoniously about his waist. Your heart strummed and skipped a beat. With her words, Miguel turned his eyes up from the wound at his waist-- to your eyes. They pierced your heart in the darkness. He would have come.

“You know what? I’ll just leave you two alone.” 

“No, no, no Jess, por favor--” She left without another word. Punishment in its own right. Your hand approached your chest, covering your cleavage from his sight. His hand swayed over the pad to lock the door shut. 

Your head dropped back on his flat pillows. Whether it was the bundles of discomfort at his presence or actual shots of pain, the awkward silence was growing increasingly too much for you to handle. He brought you here, into his bed, for a reason you couldn’t understand. You both were done. Finished. Miguel didn’t seem to think so.

“You act as if I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Maybe, he had seen you naked before. He had no right to anymore. You opened your eyes to look at him, noting the strong scent of sweat permeating his skin and the warm sheen that dusted his chest. You had your increased senses to thank for that. You swallowed air in forceful gulps and burrowed painful shockwaves in your chest. If nothing else, you could at least swallow pain with some honor.

Everything that Miguel did had a purpose. You couldn’t help but eye the way his thumbs looped around his waistband to draw his pants lower, freeing his swarthy skin from indigo fabric. Your eyes fell on his flaccid cock that sat on a tuffet of his thick black pubic hair, chased the curve sight of his shapely ass, and settled on his strong rideable thighs. It was the least egregious sight to stare at. He slipped the suit over his shoulder, raising his brown brows in unison. 

“And as if you haven’t seen me naked before, either.” 

“It… it’s been a while.” Your eyes darted past his figure to the door. You were sure it was locked.

"Has it really?" Miguel threw out as he disappeared into his bathroom. For a moment, you debated running. Your heart ached with the knowledge that he would just come to find you. He left knowing that you would not disobey him because, after everything, you respected his wishes. 

What Miguel's wishes were today was up for debate. The only thing you were sure of was the gentle pitter-patter of water droplets, the steam that emanated from the bath, and his lofty figure swaying in the distance. The warm certainty that filled your body knowing that he would come back to bed. Because that’s what Miguel did when you were hurt: he paid attention. 

He came back into the room nude, ruffling his hair with a fluffy towel. You couldn’t convince yourself to act as if you were asleep. His presence shattered any illusion of ignoring him, even with the expressionless way he considered you tonight. He was utterly intolerable.

After an eternity boxed in with your thoughts, reality came as Miguel, a smooth wall of muscle, clambered into the bed. The bed shifted under Miguel’s weight. Just as you predicted, the warmth of his chest was against your slight back and his large palm was flat against your stomach. 

You broke up with him for a reason, you broke up with him for a reason— Miguel didn’t seem to care about those delicate details. He caressed your neck with his nose. His lips dragged over your unmarked skin. As certain as a clock was to click, your body became slick with anticipation. You knew he could tell. 

You were weak. Weak out there. Weak in here. Weak everywhere.

“You smell… different.”

“Miguel, por favor,” you breathed, thready and thin. “It’s just Hobie.”

“Hobie?” he growled. Miguel’s hand encompassed the large space of your belly. Your legs shifted as Miguel held you a little firmer. You expected his hand to move lower, but he didn’t.

“Hm. Why would it be Hobie?” he asked, his voice dripping dangerously low. “Is there something I should know, Corazón?”

“No, I, no,” you stammered. He knew. Though you said the words, they felt cut off from what you were saying. As though the threat of his rejection took over all the confidence in your world. "You were watching?"

You turned in his arms to face him. His forehead creased in disapproval. You opted to press your forehead against his, running your nose against his, breath puffing his lips.

"You thought I wouldn't," he said. His eyes spun with sharpness, searching your face for evidence of the truth. As though he were asking if you’d been unfaithful despite the breakup. Your face was always pitifully easy to read. Even with the breakup, he could read your intentions as clearly as the words on his lab screens.

"I didn't think you cared."

You were used to a Miguel who crept into your bedside window, slunk into your bed, and woke you up from your slumber with the weight of his body between your legs. A Miguel that only had time for brief moments of pleasure and successful results. This Miguel was different.

"You know I do."

And there it was. He pushed himself free of the bed in search of pants. You watched him pull them over his ass before he flopped into the one chair in the middle of his room, head in his hand. Lyla, he rumbled something under his breath you couldn’t quite hear. Your senses were dull, something you equated to the exhaustion and sleepiness that threatened to overtake you at any given moment. 

“Something is different. And it isn’t him,” he sneered. 

You missed the warmth of his body against yours. The ginger way he touched you just moments before. After days of being without his touch, you missed the simple things. Like the way he touched you. The way he focused on you alone in a room full of others. You hated yourself for craving it. You made a choice. Why couldn’t you stick with it? 

“What did I do wrong now?” Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth. It was the very cottonmouth you feared you would have when telling Miguel about Gwen and Miles. Your mind was too hazy to rationalize what you possibly could have done this time. Miguel would always be an impenetrable castle, one you could admire from afar but never enter. 

“Nothing!” He snapped. You recoiled from the shrill in his voice. Miguel ran his hand through his hair, easing his tone down to a murmur. He threw you a small, bittersweet glance. Almost a smile. “Muñeca, you did nothing wrong. Get some rest.” 

He sat there a moment longer. A frown grew on his lips as Miguel stood up and walked toward the door. After one, two, then three attempts to open the door, his closed fist slammed a hole into the siding. It finally whirled open and allowed him to exit. It left you in the sea of silence that was his dark room. You never liked waking up in his room alone. It was bare, too bare, for anyone to live in. You worried that his mind was just like that.

“Lyla? Lyla, I want to go home.” 

It was a long time-- too long-- before she answered. “You should sleep.” 

And though she advised that, it was a restless night.

[cherryandpudding]

Have a great day! 🤎

Love Pudding Bear 🐻

[mognamon]

What if-

Jade winglet as Lackadaisy cats

ID: A character lineup with the Jade winglet as anthropomorphized cats from Lackadaisy. They are wearing 1920s clothing. From left to right Peril is a ginger tabby cat with sharp features, wears her hair is an messy eton crop style. She is wearing a blue coat over a teal striped dress and brown brogue oxford shoes. Turtle is a gray tabby british shorthair with round features. He is wearing a green sweater vest over a long sleeved button up shirt topped with a dark green bowtie. He has brown pants and dark leather slippers. Moonwatcher is a black/dark gray cat with white markings around her eyes, wears a blue cloche hat with moon decor over her Charleston bob. She wears a cardigan and dark teal sailor dress with two tone edwardian button boots. Kinkajou is a fluffy abyssinian cat and she wears a pink floral headband misplaced over her red dyed windswept bob. Wears a fuschia sailor dress with fuchsia mary janes shoes. Qibli is a brown tabby cat with curly hair that's covered by a blue newsboy cap. He wears a button up with suspenders and patched up denim pants and cowboy boots. Winter is a gray tabby point maine coon with slicked back hair. Wears a black coat over a waistcoat and white dress shirt with dark work pants and black wingtip shoes.

[fredkinnie]

CODZ Characters as Cat Breeds

& my personal design headcanons (<- warrior cats fan) 🐈 PRIMIS/ULTIMIS

Richtofen - Javanese, i imagine Ultimis Richtofen would have some bald patches !!

Takeo - Abyssinian, blue-furred

Nikolai - Neva Masquerade

Dempsey - American Bobtail, ABSOLUTELY an orange tabby. do not try and tell me otherwise

🐈 VICTIS

Stuhlinger - British Longhair

Russman - Selkirk Rex

Misty - American Shorthair, most definitely a brown and orange tabbyco . like this is LITERALLY misty

Marlton - Siamese/Thai

🐈 NPCS (this is a really random selection its just . characters i like enough to have an idea for)

The Warden/Brutus - Maine Coon

Arthur - Chausie

Samantha - German Rex

Pablo - Burmese, idk they have a certain "haunted by horrors" aura that just works with pablo i feel . his fur would be very unkempt

Dr Monty - Donskoy

Yuri/The Pentagon Thief - Peterbald

Cornelius Pernell - Devon Rex

[felinefractious]

so, the most ironic thing happened yesterday.

to preface, i only just discovered the "phoenix" coloring thanks to your blog. thought it was really cool! never seen a cat with that color before! welll, then i go to petsmart yesterday and no shit, not even exaggerating, there was 100% a phoenix cat there for adoption. i compared him to photos you shared and from other resources and he matched it completely!!

they had him labeled as buff, but there was another buff cat right above him and the differences couldn't have been more obvious. i think they were just like "well he's kind of light orangish sure lets call it buff why not" lol they often get their colors wrong on the descriptions. it's such a remarkable color in person! i wish i could have gotten a picture but the kennel staff had taken him out to clean his cubby and play with him and i had to get going 😭

i mean obviously without genetic testing i can't confirm it but he had all the phoenix traits and i've never ever seen another cat even close to that before.

what's the rarest color/mutation you've ever seen on a cat in person??

The phoenix mutation has only been documented in the Maine Coon breed, in particular a specific cattery in Russia. So I can say pretty confidently the cat you met was not phoenix

The original phoenix cat from Doma Yahontoff.

It is possible that he was some flavor of pseudo-cinnamon, though, a sort of… “class” of mutations of which phoenix is part of. I don’t know if they’re actually related but they have a visually similar effect and tend to get grouped together under the pseudo cinnamon label.

I don’t know if what you’re describing fits, though. Buff is the same as cream, I don’t know why it’s such a popular descriptor compared to the proper term - I guess it’s sort of the same thing as gray being more commonly used than blue?

Anyways!

As the name suggests pseudo-cinnamon cats have a more… cinnamon appearance, despite being genetically red? Usually, presumably. So a pseudo-cinnamon for adoption is more likely to be labeled as “brown” or “chocolate” or something, I think.

Pseudo-cinnamon moggy littermates, here’s a post with more pictures and the image sources.

And here’s a “red on blue” pseudo-cinnamon tom sedated to be neutered beside his normally colored littermate.

“Buff” cat for adoption (his name is Donut!) next to a cream British Shorthair.

So the cat you saw wasn’t phoenix… but could have still been pseudo cinnamon, or something else entirely! Unfortunately no way to know without pictures.

As for the rarest I’ve seen…

We had a cat come in who I’ll never truly know the color of but the best I can figure is maybe caramel? She was definitely dilute but her coat didn’t look like any of the standard dilute colors.

We also have a patient who’s cream with a somatic mutation!