It must be love.

I've had him for as long as I've been in Vegas.

He wakes me up, he bugs me, and constantly shadows me around the house.

I wake him up, I bug him, and I occasionally run after his shadow when he darts out of the house.

I don't mind his queerness.
He doesn't mind my queerness.

I understand what he means when he lets out a half meow.

He understands what I mean when I don't complete my sentences.

I try being a responsible pet owner by purposely feeding him the good stuff for indoor cats.

He tries to be a responsible pet by purposely coughing up a hairball on a book that I was about to give this girl (whom he didn't like).

Everyday, I tell him he's the coolest cat I've ever had.

Everyday, he tells me the same.