Ten-Finger Exercises

our animal friends

To refresh your memories, we rescued a cat last spring from the animal shelter. Her name is Olio, because she is a mixture, a frquently found crossword clue. She is a pastel version of a calico with blue eyes, slightly crossed, and a moderately friendly disposition. She did not want any part of our dog Seamus, an old, sedate Bouvier, and gave him a look that would turn him in his tracks.

When we adopted Lola, the "wired terror," after Seamus's death, Olio had an attitude. She'd been the only 'child' for several months, and she didn't take lightly to having a wild dog in the house with her. "The Look" didn't work with Lola. Nothing much works with Lola. Lola wants to play, play, play, and she figures that everyone and everything will eventually cooperate, given enough time and opportunity.

Now to this very verbal pair, a piteous Siamese-style whining and a joyful teasing bark, we've added another cat, of all things.

Toby was the "only child" of an old man hospice patient, and the man was worried about what would happen to the cat when he died. Out of some misguided notion of kindness and fairy tales, I offered to take the cat.

Toby is a very large, although skinny, male cat whose front claws have been removed. He is orange and white, with a sphinx-like face and calm demeanor. He is used to having the rule of the roost. Well, no longer.

Three months after he came to live with us, I'm still wondering if it will work. Some days it's like having three ornery kids in the house, all vying for attention. Olio has come as far as approaching Toby and touching noses with him, but that's about it. Lola and Toby bat at each other's faces, play that either of them may instigate but which usually develops into some snarling by one or the other. "Kids, kids, stop that!" Lola doesn't seem to understand when Toby means, "Enough!" Or maybe she does. THere's a certain point at which she whips her tail around into the cat's face, which looks like she's trying to say, "See, I'm your friend. Smell my butt. We're friends. Check it out."

In the meantime, I'm trying to get Toby used to 'going' outside. I do hate cat boxes. Olio seldom uses hers, goes outside instead. If Toby will train and they'll keep working on their relationships, I guess he'll be a keeper.

One habit pattern I forgot to mention: encroaching upon territories. Lola quickly found the cat's favorite perches and made them her own, the back of the chair, the back of the sofa. She'd like to do the same with the bathroom sink but can't quite manage it. Toby evidently figured out that the people's bed was not where he got to lounge, even though that had been his previous habit. But recently I've seen him Olio's bed on the office chair and stretched out across Lola's favorite chair in the bedroom. He doesn't say a word, just regards them imperiously, daring them to complain.

And now, before it gets too hot, I've got to go work in the garden, the real one. Weeds are springing up everywhere!