Today, my cats are EIGHT(!) years old. We've been through quite a lot since I adopted them: I went from single to married, we went from duplex to apartment to my mom's house to another apartment to finally the house we own, I started graduate school, and then over the three years following graduation, started a new job every year, they've evacuated for two hurricanes (Gustav and Ike), lived in two states (Louisiana and Texas), and been taken care of by no fewer than TWELVE pet-sitters (thank you mom, dad, Erica, Alison, Will, Missy, Daisy, Mary, Jill, Ryan, Kristen, and Jenni!)
These cats are troopers and fully part of our family. They have stockings and presents at Christmas, "grandparents" who will actually watch videos of them drinking from the sink with interest, and two people (Brendan and I) who couldn't imagine life without them. Yes, they've kept us up and woken us up meowing, broken glasses, ruined apartment carpet (and led us to build our house with all wood/tile floors because of it!), and necessitated many trips to PetSmart over the years (often for nail clippers: one day I will find all nine pairs I've purchased). But overall, they're the best cats (or "not that bad" as Brendan says), and we're lucky to call them ours.
Happy birthday, fluff cats! Life with you two has been crazy; I wouldn't have missed a second of it.