MSI Press Blog

  Some cats pass through your life. Murjan lived in mine. He wasn’t just a companion — he was a presence. A cat who sat at the Thanksgiving table in his own chair, waiting politely for his plate because he knew he belonged. A cat who walked on a leash like a gentleman explorer, then let the other cats parade him around the house afterward, leash trailing like a royal sash. In the evenings, we had our conversations. I’d talk; he’d listen, then answer with a slow, deliberate lick to my hand. Back and forth, like two old friends catching up after a long day. And when he was done, he’d rest his head on my lap and drift to sleep, content. He had opinions, too. When we moved without consulting him, he staged a full protest: escaped outside, rolled in mud, marched back to the door, shook it all over the floor, and stalked off — message delivered. Nineteen years with him wasn’t enough. But every memory is still warm. Happy Caturday, Murjan. You were one of a kind, and you are stil...

Carl and Murjan , at table Carl loved food. Not in the way people love snacks or comfort meals. He loved food like a musician loves sound—deeply, reverently, with curiosity and delight. He grilled with precision, plated with flair, and never met a cuisine he didn’t want to explore. Ethiopian injera, Vietnamese pho, Sicilian caponata—he welcomed them all. Food was his passport, his playground, his poetry. Carl didn’t binge. He didn’t eat to numb or escape. He ate because he loved the taste, the textures, the craftsmanship. He ate like some people chase sunsets or symphonies. It was his feel-good stuff. 🍽️ When Passion Meets Physiology Carl’s appetite was joyful, but it was also relentless. Over time, his body bore the weight of his enthusiasm—literally. He developed health complications, including cancer, and his doctors noted that his size played a role. This isn’t a cautionary tale. It’s a complexity tale. Some people eat to soothe emotions. Others eat to chase flavor. Some ...

  Intrepid and Murjan, looking out the sliding door Ever wonder what your cat sees when she stares out the window or pounces on a dust mote? Feline vision is a marvel of adaptation—built for twilight hunting, not color theory. 🔹 Color, but not like us Cats aren’t stuck in black and white. They see muted shades of blue and green, but reds and pinks fade into grayish tones. Think of their world as a cool-toned watercolor—less vibrant, but rich in contrast. 🔹 Night vision ninjas Thanks to a high rod-to-cone ratio in their retinas, cats excel in low light. Their eyes gather ambient light like moonlight collectors, making them stealthy navigators at dawn and dusk. 🔹 Motion over detail Cats don’t see fine detail as sharply as humans, but they’re masters of detecting movement. A twitching tail or fluttering insect grabs their attention faster than a static toy. And then there’s Simone. Blind, but not broken. She maps her world through whiskers, scent, and memory. We’ve learned t...