In which the blogger's childhood friend, the girl next door, ruminates on the nature of his being

"It shouldn't come as a shock that when I think of the name Felix, I think of a cat.

Straight out of the womb, he was a fighter, a survivor. His entire life he’s been a fighter, a survivor. He will scratch and claw his way to where he needs to be, and if there’s a loophole, he’ll find it. A Leo to the core, Felix knows how to roar.

His curiosity gets him into trouble, but that’s part of his charm. Agile and flexible, his long strides take him from adventure to adventure.

I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Felix since adolescence and we’ve been family ever since. Our friendship is a magical one, into which people are rarely invited to really see the true dynamic that exists between us. Our chemistry ensures that it will last forever.

He’s taught me several lessons over the years, and he continues to be my sounding board. He’s one of few people I trust completely. His sound advice helps me through my situations; when I need a friend, I know where to turn. He’s bared his fangs for me and wouldn’t hesitate to bring his back claws into a fight if necessary.

Despite his uncanny ability to hiss in the face of danger, he also knows how to purr and sidestep tragedy. Perpetually on his ninth life, Felix doesn’t stop walking on the tallest fences, knocking over trash cans and stretching out on sidewalks in the sun. Traffic is something for him to laugh at as he travels easily through it.

Yes, yes, I know: he’s not really a cat. But really, the metaphor fits. He does his own thing and doesn’t need anybody to possess him. He chooses his friends carefully and doesn’t feel bad when he doesn’t like somebody. He makes no excuses for who he is, because who he is is all he is. Nothing more, but nothing less."

--Gail T. Kismet, author of the up-and-coming Cunning Stunts.