I am getting to know Noah, and he is getting to know me and the perma-cats. The latter acquaintance is slow. I am letting him out of the parlour for an hour each evening, and will be able to expand his freedom during my upcoming holidays. He doesn’t require constant supervision, but I do notice moments that need me to watch him carefully. For instance, he was out yesterday with Tucker and Josie. My Chubs’s warnings kept him at a distance but Tucker was on the couch, and the new boy continually looked up at its arm. I knew he was thinking of jumping up there, which would have been behind Tucker - and suddenly behind him. Any cat-fancier realises what that would mean.
Noah is a loveable, energetic youth. He loves playing. He has all sorts of toys for diversion. When he is in the parlour, he has fuzzy mice and plastic rings off milk jugs, and the Trac-ball that no one else seems to like. When he has the run of the house, he has other toys.
But in the parlour, he has another distraction. I don’t intend for him to play with it, but I am fully aware that he does. I’ve had to put it away when I am not using in; that’s an inconvenience, so he and I are trying to reach an accommodation. Well, I am. What’s the problem, you may wonder? Noah is a cat, of course. And like every cat, he has one natural prey. The problem is that Noah keeps chasing the mouse.