Monday, October 5, 2009

Social Time at Home

My tame domesticated cat, who sleeps with me at night, is anti-social. My new wild cat is more social. I find this really hard to accept, or do anything about. Where is the Pet Psychic? She used to write a column in The Jersey Journal; I'll have to try to find her. But she was all about Bach flower essences, which are expensive. Heck, it might be worth it to see those two kitties eating out of the same dish.

That's all that the little feral wants. (Her name is Shadow now. Cinderella was too ridiculous.) I feel quite sorry for her, as she peers around a corner at me with her big green eyes when I stand in the kitchen. Did I tell you that the other day she bestowed upon me her first voluntary touch? I was in the kitchen, opening cans of cat food, when Shadow walked up to me and rubbed around my ankles. I was pretty thrilled. She hasn't been with me even a month yet. Maybe she's not as wild as I thought.

Ali tells me that mealtime was also playtime for the cats, when they lived in his backyard. They crowded around him to the point that he had to push them out of the way of the dish, a big aluminum pan. The cats would push each other, too, and then play-fighting would ensue. No wonder Shadow misses that interaction. She's lonely. Maybe I should adopt a kitten she can play with. Bella is a lost cause, but I still feel loyal to her.

Bella must keep eating, but if I feed her in her usual spot, the little one tries to join her, and there is hissing and bad feelings. It's going to stress Bella out, and I don't want her to land at the vet's again. So now I feed her in my room. At least she eats.

This morning I heard crunching coming from the kitchen. I put the dry food dispenser back on the floor, and what do you know, Shadow was eating a piece. Her mouth must have healed. I can't wait to be off tomorrow, to spend the day with them and see what happens.

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