Coffee and Cats

Woke early this morning, to Facebook "have a nice trip" (Dave and Debra are taking Abigail off to school) and to go check on the library. Miraculously, the plaster is still holding- though who knows for how long. Let the boys, Pepe and Vaca, out of the master bedroom suite so they could have the run of the house. I keep them separate from Janey during feeding times and at night; the past couple of nights I slept with them, both lined up long and warm against my side. Last night I slept in the front bedroom, with Janey who I cajoled to come upstairs with food. Once she saw me all tucked up in bed with 5,000 pillows, she condescended to curl up on my hip while I read.

Domestic relations of the feline variety have been...difficult. It is safe to say that my living room is now a conflict zone- I have a couch that growls low in its throat, and occasionally emits a fluffy grey cat with a scream like a panther. If I didn't occasionally shut the boys off in the master bedroom, I fear Janey would never come out of hiding. Vaca more or less keeps his distance, but Pepe is fascinated by the beast under the couch, and just cannot resist her. As soon as the boys have free range, he cautiously makes his way to the living room and approaches the couch. The couch rumbles, a storm brewing low to the ground. Eventually he gets within range and she lashes out. And there are prolonged periods of yowling, she provides the low notes, he the high, and once in a while they meet in furious harmony. Neither will physically confront the other, so after much verbiage, they have no alternative but to walk away: she retreats back to the shadows of the sofa, he to go jump up on a high surface from which he can knock something.

After a few days, these interactions have taken on the tenor of a turbulent courtship. This morning, as I drank my coffee and read a gothic novel (Elisabeth Ogilvie's Bellwood), I watched him approach the couch. To my surprise, just over the arm of the couch, I could see a pair of shapely grey ears. Janey had in fact stayed in repose on the couch, rather than scurrying under when she heard the warning bells on the boys' collars. Pepe slowly, soooo slowly, made his way up to the arm, making no sudden moves. I waited for the uproar.

Pepe placed one paw on the arm, and keeping his head low, peered over.

No growl.

Both front paws up on the arm, he waited.

Shifted his weight, moved one hind leg up in slow motion.

Found purchase. Paused. Pulled up the fourth leg.

No response.

He had gained a foothold. The high ground even. But he kept his head down.

He was within 18" of her. And they sat. It was at least a full two minutes before she turned to him to register her displeasure. There was no yelling this time, only strong words, and eventually she told him to bugger off, and went under the couch: he retreated back through the kitchen, gave me a look that said "women!" and went upstairs.

And so it goes. A day ago, I despaired of them ever reaching any sort of peace, but at last, here's a little hope. Pepe is the unsinkable sort, persistent and absolutely genial, the picture of complete confidence. She will not be able to beat him, so I suspect eventually she will at least tolerate him.