You knew there had to be a cat called Horace. In every goddamned city! Horace loiters in the north of Belfast. He’s a lady killer. Seriously. He kills ladies. I know, and you thought Horace was gonna be a fairly nice, interesting cat. But no, he’s a murderous, hard-hearted cat. He’ll kill you for a sausage.
Ralph is an “artist”. I say “artist” because mostly he tells people he’s an artist, but he smokes bongs all day. He’s cocky, he’s revoltingly saccharine when he wants a favour, he’s quick to anger, he has a limited vocabulary. He lives on scraps and says it’s for his art. But really, he’s just a loser.
Weird name for a cat, right? Mel. Blame her parents, I don’t know. Mel has a sensible job, but can’t decide how to spend her money. Frozen in a state of indecision, she buys very little – the simplest things – and tries not to think too much about her inability to shape her life with possessions and experiences. She watches a lot of TV.
Three is enough. No one wants to read a top 10 list. You might die of cliché.