Nysse has been in a fight, by the looks of it. There’s a small tear at the tip of his right ear, and an even longer scratch on the other side of the ear.

Not even three years old yet, and already gathering battle scars. But if cat years are like dog years, then his almost-three cat years would put him in his late teens as a human. A scrappy eighteen-year-old, hanging around and looking for trouble in dark alleys and cheap dive bars. Now all he needs to complete the picture is a bunch of old-school tattoos of broken hearts and roses.

He has most adversarial relationships with the local magpies, but I can’t imagine them getting close enough to each other to do such damage. Maybe another cat?