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.