It’s always interesting to me to see the personality of a cat revealed. I’m getting to know Kola more, of course, the longer this foster-cat stays with me. He loves physical attention - up to a point. In the mornings, especially, he will twist and turn and roll until he lies still for some petting; he particularly likes to have the back of his neck rubbed. Then he is up and writhing in happiness again. It’s similar to Renn’s acrobatics of delight at bath-time. But Kola will often decide that enough is enough, and he will then swat my hand away.
Another of his characteristics is his wonder at running water. I don’t know that he was ever let into a washroom before, or if he had been, if he had had the opportunity to watch water flow from a tap. Unlike Renn, however, and my big boy’s serious study of the motion of fluids, Kola considers the movement of water principally from a viewpoint of drinking it. Every time I enter the bathroom - and I mean every time - I will hear an abrupt “er”, and a second later a little fuzzy head will appear around a corner.
How quickly they learn. Kola knows that water doesn’t run of its own accord. (Well, it does, but he likely has never seen a brook.) He understands that the human he’s living with can make the water fall from the tap, and so whenever the human goes to the room where the water lives, Kola eagerly comes to get a drink. Thank goodness he still drinks from a bowl, as well. I don’t want my newest foster-cat picking up Tungsten’s bad habit, and refusing on principle to consume standing water.
Tucker continues to try to bully Kola, running at him now and then. Nothing serious has occurred since the battle the aftermath of which I found when I came home weeks ago. Kola stays locked in the parlour while I am sleeping or away from home, even when I have a shower in the downstairs shower-room. The roly poly one has taken advantage of just a few minutes’ absence on my part. His behaviour may change or it may not. It is inconvenient, and not fun for Kola, who sits at the window of the parlour each morning and watches me leave for work, knowing that it will be hours and hours before I return to free him.
But at least he is healthy and, I believe, content. What he needs for his happiness, though, is a permanent home of his own, maybe one with an easy-going cat, ready to make friends. And a dripping tap would be nice, too.