The Beginning

Johnny Cakes wasn't born a Johnny Cakes. He was born a Hammie. A Nelson. A Donald Trump, even. It wasn't until the fateful day when Johnny Cakes jumped into an open toilet, and sat there, looking at the human "Matt", daring him to flush, that Johnny Cakes became Johnny Cakes.

When he first came home, Johnny Cakes was a tiny bundle of flea-infested fur. His human "Jess" brought him home from the veterinary clinic where she worked. A man had found him under his porch, his mother having "abandoned" him, and brought him to the clinic hoping he'd find him a home. He did. That weak, push-over, sap of a human took the kitten, put him in a warm blanket, and quickly sped off to the local pet store to gather bottle feeding supplies.

She fed him every 4 hours for the next several weeks. Sleep was very important to her, but she rose at each screech of the alarm clock, mixed the formula, heated it to proper temperature in the microwave, and convinced the mewing little creature to start sucking. She even helped him when nature called, because thats what needed to be done.

The orange and white tabby's fate was to go to a new home when old enough, but he continued to tug on the heartstrings of the humans, and alas remains in the comfort of the house on Hoofprint Drive.