the new world order

On the left, a fez. On the right, a Fez.

 

Since Mrs. Calabash's death, our younger cat, Fez, has become extremely demanding about attention.  When Callie was alive, Fez bullied Callie for affection multiple times a day.  There was a great deal of forcible ear-washing, back-of-neck washing, and snuggling.    She's an odd little cat, this spotty little creature, one who will come and scream at you for twenty minutes without letting herself be touched, only to collapse into an ecstasy of purring and kneading if you later come sit down next to where she has ensconced herself on the bed or the couch and give her some skritchies.  I don't think this is so much getting the hang of seeking attention from the monkeys as it is an expansion of earlier patterns and habits… she's always done it, to a lesser degree, with her monkeys.  (This is a cat who has always been a few bubbles off plumb.  She also sings to her litterboxes.  Not while she's in them, just while she's deciding which one she wants to use.)

One thing Fez seems to appreciate a great deal in the absence of the Elder Statescat, is the presence of the BeloveDad, who spends fairly lengthy periods sitting on the couch or in an easy chair, and can thus be colonized for catkind with relative ease.  She has taken to sitting with him once or twice a day, often snuggling up against his leg when he sits on the loveseat in his bedsit.  For his part, he will crook one arm around her and with the other hand stroke her head and rub her ears and nose, which she loves, and together in this way the two of them can pass quite some time.

Occasionally, the BeloveDad falls asleep during the cat-loving process, sort of halfway slumped over the cat, who seems quite content with the arrangement.  He had done so just the other day, when I went to wake him to tell him that I was leaving the house to run an errand, since I didn't want him to wake up and be alarmed to find himself all alone in the house.  I said the BeloveDad's name loudly, but got no response.  This is not unusual, since he has poor hearing, so I laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

One of the BeloveDad's eyes opened just a tiny bit.  He gestured with one finger at the cat snuggled beneath him and, in a very firm whisper, said "Sssh, the baby is sleeping."

I am relieved to know that our new household priorities are firmly in place.