Here's a brief tribute to this cat. (Only partially accurate.)
This cat apparently lived in Pasadena, in a communal front lawn of a disgruntled couple's house.
For some estranged reason, this cat lived with ten other cats.
When Charlie arrived in the Ploof Family Front Lawn, he had some sort of an infection. He was also a total asshole. Hiding in his bush all day, and angrily meowing at passers by, he was subconsciously deemed the one "Most likely to die first (in various infected cat related antics.)"
For some, ungodly, bizarre reason, he managed to survive. The other cats ran away, or died off (you know how Pasadena can be) while Charlie refused to give into his long awaited damnation. He was so much of an asshole, that Death didn't want to have to deal with the "Carry On Animal (To Hell)" paperwork.
Charlie now spends his days inside a log cabin, talking to himself. Ploof tells me he's senile. There is no explanation for his blatant outbursts of trivial conversation (in which he privately engages himself in stimulating conversation) while complaining about eavesdroppers. He lives with a dog that has separation anxiety, a German Sheppard, a guinea pig and another cat. The other cat is named Oliver, however, she struggles with a 'sexual identity' personal crisis.
From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.
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