Rose, who looks upon the world with an ever-baleful eye, doesn’t care for any of the dogs in our home, any of the other cats, and barely tolerates Tray, if it comes down to that.
She hasn’t reared up and punched a dog in the face in a while (and they all know that they are forbidden from retaliating), but her acceptance of them in her universe has taken almost a decade.
Which is not to say that my less than ten pound cat is mellowing in any way, shape or form.
Last week we took in a puppy, a German Shepherd mix that was abused in its previous home. It was used to cats, and came to over to investigate Rose, who was sitting on my lap.
Rose turned her head in its direction, was silent for a moment, and just said something in cat speak. It wasn’t a hiss, nor did it sound particularly threatening. It just sounded like a cat sitting on somebody’s lap.
Whatever the hell she said, it was enough to make the six month-old puppy run for the safety of the other end of the couch.
That’s my girl, I thought.
I finally have my relationship with my cat figured out
Rose came originally from a home which had about 8 million cats in it; you can just imagine the smell. She was just one of the crowd, one of the chorus of sounds.
So she had no social skills at all when she came to live with us. Over the years it has become obvious that I am the only human being that she has any use for - so much for the myth of animals being a good judge of character, I suppose.
But last week, as she was granting me my twice-a-week dose of affection (no use in spoiling me) it occurred to me that in Rose’s mind, since I am her only friend, she somehow thinks that she is my only friend, and I should show the proper amount of gratitude - or respect, at the very least.
You and me against the world, babe . . .
Eyeball to eyeball
A few months ago I had minor surgery, which may account for some odd behavior on Rose’s part.
At different times during the week I would wake up, only to find her upside-down face over mine, her eyeball literally an inch away from mine.
“Rose,.” I’d say groggily,” what the hell are you doing?” Or words to that effect; I’m not sure that we actually speak in complete sentences at that time of morning, which was always Dark AM.
As if satisfied that I was still alive, she would move away, and resume her place at the edge of the pillow.
Quote of the Day
If I were creating the world I wouldn't mess about with butterflies and daffodils. I would have started with lasers, eight o'clock, Day One! - Satan, Time Bandits