Percival Unbound

Percival came out of the library to meet his roommates last evening. It was a very interesting hour.

He was not reluctant to emerge. Perce is a confident fellow, but neither is he over-confident or arrogant. He walked about the apartment, going everywhere, checking everything out. He was happy about being free of the library, and his tail was well up the entire time. He especially liked the views through the glass door to the concrete ditch.

He found the toys fun. He battled the Kick-a-roos and wrestled with the elongated ball on the cylinder-house cat-tree. Not every animal finds that appendage amusing.

His reactions to the other cats was the most intriguing aspect of his time out. He had almost no interest in them at all. He acknowledged that they were there, but it didn’t matter to him. The most interest he showed was a brief sniff at Neville’s tail when the Nevsky was on the floor.

The perma-cats (and for convenience Imogen is included in their number for now) were more attentive to the newcomer than he to them. Renn followed Percival into the sitting room. Eventually, the two ended up on the carpetted ledge under the glass door. The door was open to the screen; I thought the outside scents would prove a distraction. They were about two feet apart; Renn emitted his usual interloper-inspired low growl – which never ends in anything more aggressive than his retreat – but Perce seemed bemused by it. Then Renn left.

Neville cared so little for Percival’s presence that he came down from the cat-tree at one point and lie in his usual spots: by the ottoman in the sitting room and by the bedroom door. It was in the sitting room that Perce sniffed his tail. Neville made a small comment but remained where he was.

Imogen’s response is the most extreme, though ‘extreme’ hardly fits it. She has hissed at the latest cat and, for the most part, kept her distance. Yet, like Renn, she deliberately follows him and watches. Though she clearly doesn’t like the addition, neither is she entirely put off by it. Her reaction toward me has been a relief: after Perce went back in the library, and even while he was out, Miss Silky rubbed up against me and enjoyed head-rubs. She seemed to view me as some assurance against the intruder. She is hopefully unchanged by this latest challenge.

Percival is out again as I write. Reactions are the same as last night. I think what will be is of immeasurable assistance in Percival’s integration is the fact that he appears to be much more people-oriented than cat. Things may change but, as a friend pointed out, Perce’s responses so far to the others are similar to how I described his interactions with the feral colony where I first saw him: indifference to the other cats, and an emphasis on people. Unless that changes, the latest resident at the Cosy Apartment may have an easy time of his integration.

Busy Boy

 

Being Watched

Every two weeks, I clean all the rooms in the apartment, one room per day. It is a bother but as long as I keep doing it regularly, the amount of work involved is not a great deal.

Yesterday was the sitting room’s turn. It required the movement of some furniture. For the first part of the chore, the cats’ nylon tunnel had to be put out of the way; in this instance, on the couch. Imogen likes hiding in the tunnel; she feels that she cannot be seen yet can keep an eye on the human she lives with. Placement of the tunnel is not always a question in her occupation, and she decided that the tunnel could be utilized in the same fashion this evening as it often is.

I hope my work met with her approval.

On Course

Percival is settling in at the Cosy Apartment. He no longer needs his collar, though in that there hangs a tale. I wanted to subject the library to my bi-weekly cleaning of all the rooms, so I stored Perce in the bathroom for an hour. When I came to put him back in the library, I found some smears of blood. My first thought was of his neuter-wound. Sure enough, that was bleeding a little.

However, after some experimentation, I deduced that the renewed bleeding was not due to his licking the site. I remained with him until the blood there was tacky, then deliberately left him without a collar. I had not seen him trying to attend to his wound since he first came home from surgery, so I suspected that he was not doing so now. Checking on him an hour later, I saw that he had not bothered with the wound; indeed, he has not since.

The smears I had found were on the bathroom counter. He probably pulled the incision open superficially when jumping up there. This is one of the reasons why we are ordered by veterinaries to keep a newly fixed cat inactive. That, of course, is impossible unless one ties him down or puts him in a crate for a week, neither option being at all either practical or desirable. Even with a cone, a cat will at least try to leap and run. All we can do is watch that he doesn’t damage the wound in some way.

Percival was put in the library without a collar and, as I thought, left the spot alone. The bleeding had ceased quickly and all now looks to be healing well.

Soon, I will be releasing him to explore the apartment, though I will confine the others while he does so. His smell indicates that his tomcat hormones have not yet dissipated, though I don’t think he would cause much trouble on purpose. He was quite pacific when associating with the ferals in the colony he had periodically joined, though this does not mean that Renn, Neville and Imogen - especially the latter - would appreciate a semi-tom among them. So meeting the others will have to wait.

But that doesn’t rule out Percival coming know his new home better in the meantime.

The River Brings a Letter

Spring was making itself felt in Idylland. The trees had not yet presented their buds but the air was warmer, the sunshine stronger, and the grass was starting to tinge itself green. Neville liked to walk the grounds of the Cosy Apartment Feline Sanitarium at this time of year, especially now, as he was growing older; the new season made him feel refreshed.

He stopped this evening by the river. The sun was orange in the western sky; it would soon be time for dinner. For the moment, though, Neville sat and felt the warmth on his grey fur. It was coarse now, the skin underneath dry. The insulin was not working on his diabetes, so Dr Bellen told him, and this made Neville feel all-overish much of the time. But he could still lie comfortably, sleep deeply, enjoy his food and derive pleasure from long chin-rubbing sessions. He was content.

But now he stared at the river. The water coursing down from the hills in Verdureland was clean and clear, and any object it carried from farther north was plain to see. Once in a while, a twig or a leaf would pass by, bumping against the short embankment, before continuing on to the sea. But there was something else this evening. Neville lie down, bringing his eyes closer to the item bobbing in the water. It was a glass bottle, a glass bottle with rolled paper inside.

“Oh, radi Boga…”

After dinner had been served to, and eaten by, the residents, Dr Bellen sat in his study, with a cup of tea, reading. His study was not public – like his office, where he conducted sanitarium business – nor entirely private – so as to exclude everyone. He was not annoyed, therefore, by one of the cats coming by to speak with him. He always looked forward to them sharing their conversations with him, anyway. But when Neville stopped by this evening, it was obvious that he had something else in mind than entertaining chatter. He carried a glass bottle.

“Hello, Neville,” the doctor greeted. “What do you have there?”

“It’s a glass bottle,” confirmed the cat. “It had a message inside, and photographs. It’s from Zofia.”

“Zofia!” Dr Bellen set aside his book and patted his lap. Neville was less reluctant to spend time there of late, and sure enough, the big grey cat jumped up and settled himself down. “She wrote a letter and put it in a bottle? She didn’t throw it in the river, did she?”

“I believe so,” said Neville, “though I don’t think she wrote the letter, since she’s illiterate. Some cat transcribed her words.”

Dr Bellen regarded the scroll-like document Neville held in his paws. The words printed neatly in pencil were quite intelligible. Zofia must have dictated it.

“Have you read it? What does she say?”

“She describes her new home. Would you like to read it, Doctor?”

Dr Bellen drank some of his tea and smiled, answering, “Why don’t you read it to me?”

“All right.” Though he sounded bothered by the request, Neville was rather pleased by it, and cleared his throat importantly.

Dear Neville, Dr Bellen and everyone at the sanitarium.

I wanted to write and tell you that I am happy in my new home. It is warm and cosy here, especially when the wind blows outside.

There are two humans here. They smile and laugh a lot. I think they are nice. There is also another cat. He’s bigger than me.

Neville glanced at the doctor and explained, “The last sentence seems to have been inserted after indecision about another, ‘He’s a giant, about seven feet tall and twice as wide.’ I think, perhaps, this Wyatt may have been writing the letter for Zofia.”

Dr Bellen smiled and nodded in agreement.

“You are probably correct about that.”

Neville resumed reading.

I was kept in a room by myself for weeks and weeks, maybe even a day or two. The humans made a fuss over me. They are nice. That Wyatt was on the other side of the closed door. He smelled bad. He wanted to smell me badly. But he didn’t seem dangerous.

In case he was, I had a hiding spot that I found where he was too gigantic large to come into. It’s good to have a hiding spot.

But I didn’t need it, because when I was let out of the room, Wyatt didn’t attack me. He was quite nice and kept his distance, though he wanted to come closer. See how big he is? He’s the size of a manatee.

“It says ‘manatee’?” Dr Bellen questioned.

“Indeed…” Neville frowned, wondering how Zofia had learned of manatees. Aloud, he stated, “I don’t think this Wyatt fellow is as large as the photograph depicts. I think he is flattened out a bit lying on his stomach.”

“And he’s closer to the camera,” the human pointed out.

He followed me everywhere. He never came close but he liked to watch me. This is me on the stairs asking the humans if Wyatt really lived here.

He would watch me walk and sleep and even eat. He was always there, but very polite about it.

Sometimes I felt like he was like a crazed vivisectionist you read about in the gutter press who kidnaps people and cuts them up and sells them as meat in a public market-place stalking me.

“Where on Earth does she come up with these things?” Dr Bellen stared, incredulous, at Neville.

“I blame Hector,” said the cat. He cleared his throat again.

Other times I thought he was like a guardian angel. I decided he was probably a guardian angel, so I decided to give him a chance to be friends.

I hung out with him more and more. It was especially fun at the human’s dinner-time (“This Wyatt doesn’t know how to use apostrophes,” mumbled Neville) when we would both look like beggars wanting human food. The humans thought we were ganging up on them. Hahaha.

Wyatt wanted me to lie next to him because he said I was his little sister now, and he would protect me. I liked that idea.

He’s a bit goofy sometimes, but I am, too, so I started to think maybe we were a good match.

Then we got in trouble because we found an old package of cat-nip in a carrier. I blamed Wyatt, because that’s what little sisters do. Hahaha.

But no matter what I did, he was gentle and patient. He waited till I realised he was a good cat and wouldn’t hurt me. He let me decide to be friends.

And now we are friends, brother and sister, too. And I have a home with loving humans and a big brother. I am very happy.

Zophia

(The humans spell my name different now, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t spell anything, anyway. Hahaha.)

Neville put the page down and was silent. But Dr Bellen could feel the unmistakable vibration of a cat’s purr on his lap. He stroked Neville head.

“I am very happy for her, too,” he said.

As the sun’s light disappeared outside, a fire glowed in the study’s grate, and the human and the cat read their letter once more.