Watching Evolution

One of the delights of having a new cat is seeing her evolve. It is especially pleasing when she evolves in unexpected but promising ways. Such is the case with Imogen.

She is becoming more at ease with me and the other cats (more about that later), and a little more vocal. Tonight she ate her meals at meal-times – a first – and though I don’t know that that will continue (I usually have to leave her dish aside for whenever she wants to eat), it may bode well for the future.

Imogen rarely runs to the library, her safe-room, anymore. She will still be startled by sudden noises or movements, but she recovers from the start more quickly, and doesn’t always run to the library. She has, in fact, found her favourite spot. It’s the cylinder-house cat-tree. She usually sleeps there at night, and snoozes there more than anywhere else at other times. Periodically, she lies on top of it, though I have noticed from her jumps there and at other locations that she doesn’t have the strength or balance that she thinks she has. This hasn’t to do with any health issues; it’s just over-confidence.

This is illustrated in the manner in which she will slip into the cylinder-house from a position atop. She will simply turn herself upside down and insert herself through one of the lunette openings in the side. This of course means that, as her centre of gravity changes with her movement, she might throw herself out of the cat-tree as she’s trying to slide farther in. She hasn’t yet but, as I wrote above, she may have a problem with over-confidence…

Imo is becoming more playful. She likes the string-toy but her preference for our games is the red-dot. She’s no Zofia, exhausting herself in its pursuit, but she does pretty well, nonetheless. And she entertains herself, a milk-jug ring being an enjoyable toy. But last night, after I went to bed, I heard Miss Silky knocking something about the dining area.

And…I think, possibly, maybe, this cat, who never met another feline until seven weeks ago, might, perhaps, be happy with a playmate. I watched her this evening observing Renn come into the sitting room. He was wary of her – as he is with all new cats – and she slipped into the nylon tunnel. As he passed the far mouth of it, Imogen scuttled toward him in the tunnel. She stopped short of him, of course, but the simple fact that she ran towards him suggests play to me. I can’t see her suddenly developing aggression, when the most she worked herself into even when new to the Cosy Apartment was a severe hiss. Renn will never play with Imo, but maybe another, younger, more gregarious cat?

Well, it’s still early days yet. Imogen hasn’t been here two months. I may not have seen her true personality; it may be that she will discover joys – and grievances – that she herself never suspected.