Our black cat has come on wonderfully this Christmas. Instead of running in blind panic to the absolute limit of his territory (three back gardens away on the edge of a shed roof), he now slink runs as far as the bottom of our own back garden only.
The cause of the panic is Christmas. Or, in particular, Christmas visitors.
Black Cat doesn't like visitors. It goes against Routine.
3 comments:
Feline behavior...ain't it grand. BooRadley Badger is our early warning system. She senses the first crunch of tire or foot on gravel, and streaks for the nearest deep cover. Salty isn't so quick, but he follows his Aunt's lead. Princess is naturally camouflaged and much calmer, she just goes into the ready-alert crouch. Blondel the Troubador should have been called the Jester; he stands ready to entertain, while Beautiful Ursula checks the whiteness of her ruff, and stands composed to receive whatever accolades are forthcoming. As ruler of the Continuum, it's her job, and she's good at it.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
My cat has always been her own woman. I would say she is part ferrel. She loves me though as I am "Mum". Even I get the paws wrapped around my wrist and nails slightly digging into my flesh when she has had enough of the human hand petting her.
She comes sauntering down the stairs if we have visitors, some people like cats, other's just look. Usually the cat lover's go to give her a rub down. "Eh be careful, she does not like to be touched for very long" says I to whoever. One biker friend we know decided to go against my advice and she pounced on his wrist. nails digging in this time.
"I told you" I said to this supposedly hard man biker. Finally she let go. The ponytailed man looked sheepish, he won't do that again.
As she is now nearly twelve, mid years in cat terms, she has slowed down a bit and sits beside me most nights while we watch TV. We sometimes push each other out of the way if we both want a certain part of the sofa.
Even " Dad " has softened to her of late. He thinks she is mad though when she takes off through the house on her mad dashes to nowhere. Funny that.
No sign of the grusome twosome this morning. Either they are off on patrol, or most likely wrapped up in a duvet and cardboard box that was donated to the cause just before Christmas. It's dark today, but if the sun comes out at all they'll mysteriously appear in the shed window to catch a few rays.
Like many cats, I suspect they are sharing themselves between more than one home. The tabby is particularly obese, despite having access to what I consider to be only a reasonable amunt of food. Maybe a handout is proffered elsewhere of a morning?
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