Sleepy Kings

The effect of Noah, my foster-cat, on Tucker has been both good and bad, though the latter does, I believe, appear to be diminishing. Tucker is a very sensitive animal, even for a cat. His use of the litter-box is excellent, but he sometimes relieves himself out of it when he is under stress. This still occurs but with less frequency than previous.

The advantage to Tucker of having Noah living with us is that the roly poly one has gained confidence. It hasn’t been much, and any number of things can send him scurrying for a hiding spot. Seeing the broom being carried about, for instance, or hearing a raised voice after he has jumped on Noah, will cause him distress. Yet his dictatorial demeanour toward the boy has given a bit of a boost to his ego, I think.

Witness his snooze on the platform of the cat-tree in the parlour. That room is not Noah’s, but it is where the boy stays during the day, to keep him separated from the perma-cats while I am not present to supervise. Consequently, to a cat, the room must smell strongly of the youth. Yet this does not deter Tucker, who will sometimes stroll into the parlour, while Noah is free and moving about, and stake a claim.

Such was his ease vis-a-vis Noah that Tucker felt quite safe enough to lie down by the open window, sniff the scents coming through the screen and then rest his head and his eyes with a bit of sleep. I have seen Noah sniff warily at a prone roly poly, but deliberately disturbing him is out of the question.

So in his own small way, Tucker has attained the status of minor nobility in our household, at least as regards Noah. He fears no foster-cat and rules his province firmly. He takes orders from his superiors, but nonetheless gives them, too. Now and then, therefore, perhaps in between waking and dreaming, he is a king, a little crown at a rakish angle on his melon-head, and his iron will obeyed by all. Or at least by Noah.