And in this corner, from the wilds of North Philadelphia, we have 6.9 lbs of pure evil girl cat genius, Pen-nellllllllllllllll-a-peee Sparkssssssszzzzzzzzzzzz:
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday was the first real attempt we made at cat integration. We've spent almost the last 8 weeks doing a delicate cat dance wherein we supervised any and all visits (well, except for that first night when she broke out of her isolation room and waltzed into the bathroom while I was in the middle of a onesies...). We reassured Chico he was #1 in our lives, and gave him extra treats, extra snuggles, extra sunshine-on-the-deck time, extra lunchmeat, and extra popcorn (he LOVES popcorn and will snuggle right in between us while we snack on it and patiently wait his treat). Still, we fully expected the full integration to be nothing less than problematic.
We expected any or all of the following to happen:
- bite wounds on one or both animals
- scratches on him from her (he's declawed, she's not)
- death of one animal (which, as Mike put it, would actually solve our problem)
This is what actually happened: NOTHING. Okay, so that's a bit of a lie. SOMEthing did happen, but nothing that we predicted. After breakfast, we released her from her isolation and went about our day - Mike had work to do, I primed the bedroom in phase I of Operation: Get the Fuck Off the Futon. By lunch, no blood had been shed. By dinner, the worst of the day had been when both cats tore off from the basement all the way up to the craft room (note - this is the futon room, too, so not only is it crammed with crafts, but it's got a futon open in it and it's only a 9x11 room to begin with... Add in two pissed off cats, and you can understand why I feared for my yarns' safety.).
I know this is only day 1 of probably another month of animal issues, but for the first day, it wasn't nearly as horrible as we expected. In the interest of getting sleep last night, we did re-isolate her, and Mr. Bean came to bed with us eventually. And that return to normalcy is a really big good sign - my concern was that he'd hate us and hold this whole incident against like a goth-y teenager being forced by her mom to wear pink to prom (I'm not talking about myself.) (No, really....) (OK. Maybe a little.). But, he didn't clam up or hide out or run away. And this morning? He was actually a little loving. Who knew?
Miss Penelope, despite her 6 months or so living on the streets, is really a lap cat. She loves to be *in* your lap. She also loves to explore everything and does not like going back into her room at night (Mike has a scratch on his face, I have a bite on my hand). Worse than all that, though, she's in need of a desperate yarn-training... I was calculating yardage on some handspun yesterday (194 yds, Anj! Not 300+... What were we thinking?) (Also, that yarn'll get it's own post) and she ATTACKED as the yarn came out of the center-pull ball. Oh, kitten-at-heart, you shall learn how to behave around yarn. Or, you'll go back to the streets....