As they say in some of the worst works of literature: time passed (or, “It was a dark and stormy night.”).
And as they say in some circles: that’s an understatement.
I’m approaching the two-month mark in my capacity as Mountain High Cat Wrangler. Whodathunkit? Certainly not me.
Cali has made some small improvements since my last repor-tagggggggge. But "small" is the key descriptor in this discourse. I am thoroughly amazed at how (1) acclimated and (2) trained I have become in being a moderator between the two dueling gatos.
Maybe I am just in need of some good shrinkage to fix my mental state. But I seriously doubt it. I never thought I’d be digging deep into my cat wrangling skills at this late date. But I am, and now I wonder: what lunkhead turned off the light at the end of the tunnel? All my bills are paid up, for pity sake!
About a week ago, I was lulled into a false sense of security. I even contemplated, with more hopefulness than I’ve gathered for a long time, that one night Cali would jump into bed herself, noddle up into a fuzz ball, and all this would just be a reflection of a bad dream.
I am delusional. Instead of past blending seamlessly into the present, lines of demarcation have been drawn. Interestingly, when it comes to bed time, I am actually that line. My body is the literal divider between growls and claws, between sweet behavior and gatos gone bad. Cali to my right, Izzi to my left; and as Mark says, never the Twain shall meet. I am sleeping on a strip of bed that is about 6 inches wide and 6 feet long. Rock ‘n roll in either direction, and I am in a world of hurt.
Here’s what’s so odd. When the girls are on the kitchen counter for their snacks during the day, they are fine with each other. Each will groom the other, and they will position themselves in Yin-Yang style waiting for the food to hit their dishes. They will even eat out of each other’s dishes and not raise a peep.
Cali is finally moving around those places that Izzi has heretofore guarded. Like the tall kitty condo. And she’s venturing a little further out of the kitchen, and has even headed ‘round the corner down the hallway to the bedroom on her own steam. And she’s used her step-box to get into the bed. The secret, you see, is that all this is going on when I’m not around. So I know Cali has dealt with it in some form or fashion. I am now thinking that I’m the wildcard in this crazy equation.
But geez. She used to stay settled in bed until 4 a.m. before wanting her early morning snack. Then the time migrated to 3 a.m., and then 2 a.m. Last night, it was a hair shy of 1 a.m. What I’m trying to decide is whether it’s a good thing that the timing is moving up, or whether this is a warning that I will be officially screwed soon.
Izzi’s stalking ended for a while, but we are ramped up again as of four days ago. I’m thinking I could charge admission for the most recent staring matches.
I am seriously contemplating contacting Animal Planet.
These latest developments, needless to say, have my stomach in a turmoil. I have given serious consideration to buying stock in the company that manufactures Tums. I think I’m going to need a bulk discount at the very least for the foreseeable future.
