Cat Cat’s Woes
by KJ Hannah Greenberg

 

 

Charif, who, we usually call “Cat” or “Cat-Cat,” doesn't care about his appellation; he only speaks feline. What’s more, he  has no interest in his looks, just in his hygiene. However, it's his opinion that our apartment belongs to him and that within “his” domain he ought to be able to do as he pleases. He’s a normal cat.

 

Our boy uses the litter 100% of the time. He’s very playful with his favorite toy being a simple length of rope!  Albeit he willingly “wrestles” with his stuffed toys, too. 

 

However, he is an attack cat. Our furball has determined that only the toe footers whom he recognizers may deign to sit, stand, eat, or breathe in his domain. If anyone besides Computer Cowboy, Younger Dude or myself enters his space, including our other children, our grandchildren, or our dearest friends, first our fuzzbucket hisses, then he growls, and, finally, he swats at “the intruders” with his front, right paw.

 

So, Hubby and I decided to change our cat’s reality; we introduced a sibling. This other moggy, “Matucha,” is every bit the princess. As soon as she was carried across our threshold she made it clear that she expected to dictate to all of our dwelling’s living beings.

 

Charif suffered the most. Anywhere that he had been or was, she wanted to be. His favorite spots, both the elevated and the hidden ones, were claimed by the newcomer. She asserted herself on top of our refrigerator. She designated the highest shelf in any closet that had accidentally been left open as hers. She insisted that my tallest bookcase belonged to her, too. What’s more, she esteemed that the depths under Hubs’ and my bed, the far reaches beneath our living room sofas, and the wonderful darkness within the box formerly owned by our furry boy were hers to possess.

 

Worse, Charif’s hisses, growls, and extended front paw were nothing to her. Rarely did she growl back—mostly, she’d just walk away. In fact, repeatedly, she’d try to engage our older mouser in play or cuddles.

 

Over time, Charif accepted that his snarls and associated behaviors were ineffective around this unfamiliar four footer. He grew quieter. He had learned, as well, that his attempts to prevent her from accessing his spaces or from engaging him were equally useless. He sulked. He ate less. He slept more.

 

Time passed. He became willing to share beds or sofas with the ingrate as long as they slept on opposite ends.

 

Yet, the “intruder” inched toward him on many occasions. Over a period of months, Charif began to tolerate Matucha sleeping within a short distance of him and to put up with her sticking her nose or paw into whichever boxes he fancied.

 

Ultimately, he allowed her to slept literally next to him. Additionally, he began to play with her. Sometimes, she chases him. Other times, he chases her. There no flattened ears, hissing, or fur flying. In fact, he trills at her as an invitation to engage in cat games.

 

Whereas our furry princess still believes that our apartment is her province, our furry prince no longer cares. He’s returned to asserting his right to select spots in front of windows, specific cat toys and choice human attention. Best, he tolerates more people touching him, has taken to sniffing, not swatting, at visitors, and now allows two of our other children to touch him.

 

Although, if asked, he would have nay-sayed the idea of a companion, Matucha’s presence has enhanced his life. Not only is he friendlier, but he’s more active, too. His heart health and weight have been bettered by the company of his sibling.

 

Furthermore, when all of us cat companions leave our home for errands, social events, or what-have-you, he has a buddy with whom to destroy, I mean explore, the bright, open spaces, and dark, secure places in our apartment. Whereas his solo reign had ended, the emperor and his empire have improved.

 

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