Johnny could blow a hole in your eardrum at thirty yards.  He could also blow holes in your plans and the natural order of life.  He was a howling, needy nut with a nursing fetish who had to yank and chew my hair to get through the day.  Anyone else would have put him in an asylum for the feline insane.  Or worse.  Which is the only reason I kept him.  How I lived through the first 8 months of wall to wall screaming I don’t know.  I once called a taxi at 2AM to take me to my mother’s house.  I hadn't slept in 6 days.  Neighbors frequently banged on the door demanding to know what I was “doing to that cat.”  One sent the ASPCA.  It was a nightmare.  I had to call Warren Eckstein about him.

In time I learned that Johnny isn’t crazy in the typical sense.  He’s a rock star in a cat’s body.  The Robert Plant of cats, if you will, and he has a Whole Lotta Love.  He just needs to get the led out.

Crazy as a loon, but so cute you want to scream too, Johnny is an Aries with moon in Pisces.  He enjoys asparagus, catching palmettos, mind-reading, an occasional hot water bottle, and reading your fan mail.  Send it to johnny@thepridecartoon.com.  -JD