Blake's jowls are raggedy and slightly matted because he is so sensitive in his moult that we don't want to cause him any more discomfort. I tried to rub a chunk out of his beard but a feather came too, a blood feather. He squawked in pain and scurried away from me, to his daddy to be rescued from mean mommy. Now he's forgiven me and is tucked on my shoulder, on one foot, provocatively having shoved his curved neck under my nose. But I can't tickle him with my nose because he's all porcupiney.
CLH's Kitty is a nice cat, for a cat. She has an aloof act but, Blake-like, she wants to be in the same room with you. And for a tortoiseshell with a bad dye job, I wonder how far back in her lineage the Siamese is. She has the loudest mah-rrowr I have ever heard, even including dear departed red-point Kato Beast.
She doesn't have any particular smell, either. Not doggy like a dog, rank or puppyish. Mostly she smells like my sister's house. Not like Blake, who smells like the best sort of dusty popcorn.
Have I mentioned how sweet my baby bird is?