We decided that Genghis needed a pal. Misty is just too old and too grumpy to be dealing with Genghis’ exuberance, and I was getting very worried that our fuzzy little lunatic was lonely.
I was sure that she would treat the newbie with more affection than Misty has ever managed to display to the family as a whole, and enthusiastically teach them the ways of Squirrel TV.
I had visions of the intrepid duo, conspiratorially hiding behind the hallway curtains, shushing each other as Misty thudded by on the way to check if the biscuit fairies had refilled the bowl.
I wanted to be able to take photos of the two of them with my new, idiot-proof camera phone™, cosily curled up in any one of Genghis’ designated patting spots. (Them; not me. I don’t fit on the windowledge).
I even joined Instagram in anticipation.
And then we collected Mister*** Sam. Named for either Vimes or Winchester (depending on your personal addictions), he is the sweetest, most affectionate, most gentlemanly cat I think I’ve ever met.
The resident shit machines hated him on sight.
Misty made her feelings clear by constantly hissing at him but, as her eyesight is a bit pants, she inadvertently also told the bin bag roll, several pairs of boots, and my new H&M jumper to fuck off. A few days later she was tired of maintaining total dudgeon so tried to multitask by hissing (at Sam) purring (at me) and eating (Perle’s finest).
I’ve never seen a cat snort gravy before.
Anyway, she has now realised that there is more food for her to steal with Sam in residence, and therefore only hisses when there are witnesses.
Genghis, on the other hand, is still undecided. As in all things, she is following Misty’s lead, but can’t seem to sustain her froideur.
Mostly, she seems pissed off that he’s figured out how to get in the hat box, which is located on top of the 6-foot-tall coat cupboard in the hallway. Up until now, everything above knee height has been her domain as Misty’s athleticism rivals mine and, if Misty were human, she too would avoid high stools in bars as she too would be unable to get up without a hoist. The hat box, however, has remained out of reach.
Sam, much to Genghis’ consternation, has an NBA-worthy vertical leap that allows him to fling himself at the nearby coats, haul himself up to an appropriate height, then tippy-toe across to the welcome embrace of 16 bobble hats, two bike helmets, an ugly beret that no-one will admit to buying, and my beloved grey trilby that is now irreversibly squashed.
Genghis eyes the whole set up speculatively every time she passes.
Misty has taken to staking out the food bowls.
Sam spends his time following Genghis around, settling into doorways and bed-ends, patiently waiting until she realises how fab he is and joins him on his aerial explorations.
He appears to have an endless well of patience.
I feel we could all learn something from this.
But mostly, I’m just in awe.
If I had that sort of energy and fortitude at any point during my life, I certainly wouldn’t be wasting it on one third of a packet of Dreamies.
UPDATE:
*** There was a Family Decision to name any new cat Mister and future dog Mouse. Less than 20 minutes after introducing Sam to the household we realised that a) Misty understands everything you say b) her hearing is on the wane so thinks everything you say is directed at her and c) this is confusing as fuck for everyone. Particularly me at feeding time when I’m trying to direct traffic.
THE REDOUBTABLE MISS LOU 