Says their proud papa...
"They both come from a shelter in northern Massachusetts. This shelter specialized in tracking pregnant strays and then bringing them in as soon as they give birth, so they've got some very serious rules regarding adoptions: if you move, you have to tell them. If you can't keep the cat, you have to give it back to the shelter. And you absolutely must keep them indoors -- no roaming around the neighborhood.
So Gonga and Maya, still somewhat feral, have had to get used to living inside. They've both been with me since they were about 3 months old (they turned 5 in April), so they're accustomed to it, but the outside world still fascinates them. Gonga has gotten out of the house on a couple of occasions, but as soon as he was through the door he just stopped and stared at everything.
Gonga's the big tough guy of the two. He was definitely born to hunt and loves playing with anything that involves jumping high into the air and grabbing something, even if it can't actually be killed. And of course he adores wrestling. I'm covered with scars from funtime with little Gonga. He also loves women. He's just so much friendlier when there's a female around. And the macho man routine is mostly an act. On the rare occasion he has to go in a car, he cries his eyes out until he's exhausted, rests up for a while and starts crying again.
Maya is very shy. She basically cares for no human but me (which I'm told is a trait a lot of torties have). She's a runt from a litter of runts -- all her brothers and sisters died before they were 6 months old. When I got to the shelter she was 3 months old, but was about the size of a 2-week-old and had trouble walking. They didn't want me to take her because they didn't expect her to live, but as soon as I knelt down to look at her, she climbed up on my shoulder and wouldn't get down. Love at first sight, I guess. And ever since that incident, she's carried the nickname "Monkey"."
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