Portia continues to explore the Cosy Apartment. I leave the library door open much of the time when I am home, except when it would be impossible for me to hear a cat-emergency - such as when I am in the shower or asleep - but I don’t foresee too many problems between my new foster-cat and the resident beasts. I still have the thick towel handy when supervising her free time, but don’t wear oven mitts.
A day or two ago, Neville did express an interest in the newcomer that manifested itself in a rather too swift advance on her, so I will watch that: I think it would result in the Nevsky’s painful rebuff more than anything else. Nonetheless, I hope to keep any unpleasantness to a minimum, while allowing the calico-girl to wander about where she will.
Her attitude toward me remains ambivalent. I am able to stroke her head for ten or fifteen minutes at a time, but she will decide suddenly and almost without warning to tell me off, with both her voice and her claws. I don’t know if this is a matter of incomplete trust in me, or a deeper issue. Whatever the answer, she and I will have time to discover the cause, and what will be best for her.
In the meantime, I think Portia will adjust to the perma-cats more easily than she will to me, which is preferable. She and I can take our leisure getting to know one another. Once she and her feline roommates reach a modus vivendi - whatever form that may take - she will have the freedom of their small world, and not see me following her everywhere when she is out of the library. My holidays are approaching, and that will permit me to give her more opportunity to grow used to her new foster-home.