We got a new chair over the weekend from my parents. (Well, new to us.) Coney loves the new chair.



Bojo loves the new chair too, and also Coney. Who is beginning to love him too. Really.

My parents are coming to visit for the weekend (and incidentally bringing me their old large TV, so when I watch the CFL I can see what's going on.) They may come to the barn barbecue, I'll have to check with them when they arrive tonight. We may also hit the Bedford Waterfront cancer benefit thing.

Now, my guest room (read, "full of junk but you can sleep there") used to have an air bed in it. When Mum and Dad moved out of the house and into the apartment they gave me one of their guest beds, the three-quarter size one from my brother's room. So now I don't have to be afraid of the bed deflating under a guest, but I did have to put it together so I can sleep in it this weekend.

I just want to tell you that Coney is an excellent foreman, but Bojo was the one who really got in there and got his paws dirty putting the bed together. He's a really helpful cat. So much so that he nearly ended up made up into the bed, which he did not find one bit funny.

Anyway, we're set for the weekend. Tonight I'll swap out the duvet on my own bed because my mother has allergies, and put on a new clean one I have.

And the vacuuming job from last night will have to do.

Okay, I am a really bad cat-mother. I hate to even admit to this but they say (and by "they" I mean the Catholic Church and my own mother) that confession is good for the soul. So here goes.

As I mentioned, I got to bed at about one-thirty this morning, which is actually sort of early for me. But Bojo started in on his thing, which he occasionally does, where he started marching back and forth across my upper body, purring to beat the band and occasionally head-bumping whatever body part he could reach. (Like, for instance, my eyeballs.) A person who has no cats might be surprised to learn that a nine-pound cat is perfectly capable of stomping--if Godzilla walked on all fours, and purred? Same effect.

After several minutes of this I'd had enough,and I'm afraid I gave one of those heaves of the bedclothes that sort of looks like you're playing that Inuit tossed-in-a-blanket game. And Bojo sailed through the air and landed on the other end of the bed, down near my feet.

Where he settled down, purring much more quietly, and went to sleep.

I was immediately ashamed of myself but I didn't dare apologize to him for fear of starting the purring/stomping cycle all over again. It's clear from his behaviour that he's used to eating people food off people plates, but I harbour grave doubts over whether he's ever been allowed to sleep in a people bed before. You'd think he'd have developed a little restraint over the years.

Anyway, by this morning he seemed to have forgiven me.

The thing I'm really ashamed of is, every time I think of the catellite launch I have this horrible tendency to giggle. Apparently I am not a kind person at all.

1) Last night Vlad was sitting on an end table when Bojo jumped up to say hello. Immediate ferocious growling from Vlad. Bojo reacted by going over and industriously sniffing his face. Which is pretty much how Coney handled episodes of growling from Vlad. Either the growling is getting less fierce or else nobody takes Vlad seriously.

2) Coney and Bojo have advanced to the point of wrestling, but I notice that when Bojo pounces on Coney, Coney retains his feet. Which is only interesting if you know that when Coney is pounced upon by kittens, he immediately keels over in a "you got me" fashion. Come to think of it, I don't think he used to keel over for Kinsey, either. Clearly, Coney knows (a) who to humour, and (b) who might accidentally disembowel him.

3) Hertel is good for removing stains from carpeting, including the blood and guts of Coney's prey. By which I mean he got raspberry juice all over the floor the other night, but Hertel got the stain out. Hey, he might be a vegetarian, but he still has fangs!

I've been feeding the cats in two different places, because after Bojo claimed the downstairs food dish both Coney and Vlad were afraid to eat there. Last night when I came in I filled the secondary food dish first because it's near the door. I always do that. Coney followed me into the bathroom it's housed in and chowed down.

And then Bojo came in too, and the next thing I knew I had two grey-tabby heads stuck in the food dish together, no problems at all.

I think peaceful coexistence is accomplished.

At least among the tabby cats. Vlad, we're working on!

Before I get into the Tribeca post, I would like to report this morning began with two elderly tabby-cats on my pillow. Bojo was washing Coney's face.

Everyone eventually succumbs to Coney, but it looks like they also eventually succumb to Bojo.

Vlad--is a work in progress, but he's growling less.

It occurred to me over the weekend--when Bojo does his rolling-on-the-floor-being-winsome thing, you know who he looks like?





Don't you think?

Despite having only three of them.

Because there is a new application inside Facebook called (of course) "Catbook." And I added it, and then created profiles for Coney, Vlad, and Bojo.

I know, I know, I'm embarrassed. But I notice I'm not deleting the profiles.

Okay, it's not snuggling--yet--but it's getting there:

Yes, I'm talking about the cats. It's been a while since I posted about the cats. In fact, the last time I did I believe Bojo was still kind of throwing his weight around, Coney had a stress-induced eye ulcer and scratches in his face, and Vlad was growling and hissing.

Well. Things are beginning to show signs of settling down. However, it is indeed true that you reap what you sow, because now Bojo has decided he likes his new brothers and thinks they would be fun to play with. Vlad, who really has no sense of humour at all, reacts to Bojo's mock-charges the same way he once reacted to Coney's: he hisses furiously and takes refuge on top of the fridge. Bojo could totally fly up there after him, but so far he's restrained himself. Thank God.

Coney--you recall that Coney initially tried to be friendly. Well, of course he did! But that was before he got scratched. In his face. And now he wants nothing to do with Bojo, and growls whenever he comes near. Or, actually that's not quite true: Coney is fine as long as Bojo approaches him slowly and carefully and makes no sudden or aggressive movements. But anything like a fast move and Coney growls and then dives under the dining room table. Bojo shows signs of being very tired of the whole forcefield situation, but he's at least respecting the hiding-behind-the-chair thing.

What's really funny is, when they make eye contact Bojo looks away. He seems to be doing his best to convince Coney that he's a nice cat with honourable intentions. Coney keeps replying, "Yes, but you scratched me! In my face!" I don't know if it's so much that he's carrying a grudge as that he hasn't gotten over the shock yet. I mean, despite the fact Bojo is being really pretty submissive these days, Coney still tiptoes around him like he's afraid to be eaten.

With that said, for some reason Coney overcame his fears and got in bed with me on Saturday morning, while Bojo was right there, and had a snuggle.

I think we'll eventually get over this, it's just going to take a while. Indications are that patience will be rewarded. I just hope Bojo knows that.

So, just when I had started to think everything had settled down--the last couple of nights I've had cats triangulated on the easy chair and both ends of the couch, quite peacefully--there was another flareup this morning. Bojo was in the bedroom chatting with me (he's very talky) when Vlad went past in the hall, headed for the food dishes.

Bojo flew off the bed and charged. There was a flurry, some yowling, and Vlad fled. I caught up to everyone in the kitchen, Vlad was on the divider between the kitchen and dining room and Bojo was obviously telling him not to come down if he knew what was good for him. Coney, in the big rocking chair, just kept his head down.

So I chased Bojo under the couch, not as a training maneuvre but out of sheer bad temper. Yeah, I know they're settling the peck order and just being cats, but I was mighty pissed off.

Seeing Vlad in the character of innocent victim is, I'll admit, a new one for me!

Incidentally, when I got Coney home from the vet last night, Vlad ran away from the smell of vets but Bojo wandered over and sniffed noses with him. ("You doin' all right, man?" "Yeah, I'm cool.") It was really funny and quite reassuring. Of course, later Coney remembered he fears Bojo, but Bojo doesn't seem to have anything at all against Coney.

Mind you, why would he?

Or, in the words of ee cummings, "There is some shit I will not eat."

Or so Coney said last night when he was in the bed and Bojo tried to jump up. There was a yowl and then that horrible "WWWWRRRRrrrrrr" noise cats make. And it was coming from Coney. At three o'clock in the morning, you can imagine how startled I was. So I said, "Coney!" and he stopped. And then, "WWWRRRrrrrr..." again. And I spoke to him again. And he stopped again.

It was funny, really, because he looked as surprised as anyone. I think what's happening is, he's been giving ground because Bojo is sort of dominant in a way none of my other previous cats (except Kinsey) have been. Coney's never really minded the new cats hissing at him, he's just gone about his business, but it seems like Bojo feels like someone who might really start making the rules. And Coney's been willing to give in, up to a point, but--you know that expression, "Is this a hill you're willing to die on?"

Turns out bed privileges is the hill.

Bojo, incidentally, took the incident in his stride, like he'd been expecting to get told where the line was and now that he knows he's fine.

I still put him back in the bedroom for the day. I know, they have to work things out for themselves, but the thing is, Coney's never been in a real fight in his life, and I'm a little concerned that if he got into it he wouldn't know when to stop.

Vlad's very impressed with him, though.

...or at least that's my coworker's explanation for why Coney feels safe under there. Regardless, Bojo spent the night in general population and when I woke up this morning Bojo was in the back bedroom sleeping on the spare bed (an uninflated air bed, but he'd found a spot that wasn't lumpy) and Coney was in bed with me.

Vlad was on the fridge, but I still see this as progress. At least nobody got into a fight.

It's about time for some pictures of the new guy.

( Funny, he doesn't LOOK like he'd terrorize anybody. )

Don't look for snuggling pictures any time soon. Although a few months ago, who who would have expected these?

( Vlad isn't even embarrassed anymore. )

So I guess anything is possible.

The whole business of introducing a new cat to your current cats is always a little fraught. In the case of Bojo, he's an older fellow, very sweet with people, but pretty clear on how things are supposed to go with other cats. Vladimir, interestingly, is inclined to avoid the new cat--he was like that with Angel, and he's like that with Bojo.

Coney is inclined to amble up and be friendly. This is not always interpreted the way he expects it to be.

So last night when I got home during the blackout I figured I might as well let Bojo out overnight. I don't leave him loose during the day because if anything broke out among the cats I want to be there to hear it and react. But once they start to get used to each other I don't mind getting up to referee.

Bojo thought this was great--jumped up on the bed and purred, and snuggled, and walked back and forth, and kneaded with his paws... honestly, it was really cute but after a while I began to perceive that I wasn't going to get much sleep unless he settled down.

And then came the sound of a collar-bell jingling as someone came downstairs. Vlad has long since lost the bell off his collar, so the new arrival had to be Coney.

Jingle jingle jingle.

And Bojo quit purring, sat up tensely--and then shot off the bed like he'd been fired from a cannon and lit out after the interloper. Who ran for his life.

Jinglejinglejingle!

And when they hit the top of the stairs there was a horrible yowling which I figure meant Bojo had run smack into Vlad, who was probably hanging around to see what happened next.

Well. I grabbed my glasses and the flashlight and went upstairs, to find Bojo in stalk mode, Coney hiding under the dining room table (I have no idea why he thinks it's safe under there but it's always his initial choice of hiding place) and Vlad standing a little ways off looking at Bojo as if he was about to launch himself at the new guy in Coney's defense.

[Which is pretty funny, considering when I first got Vlad he tangled with Kinsey after she took offense at his snarling at Coney. (He's also taken her place as the one who follows the vacuum around to make sure it doesn't make a false move.) It's like he's possessed by her ferocious spirit.]

So I grabbed Bojo and explained to him that we have only one rule in our house, and he had just broken it. The rule is, You've got to be nice to Coney. So I put him back in the spare bedroom, and he wasn't pleased. And Coney was too spooked to come downstairs again anyway, at least until this morning.

Cat mingling in the immediate future will be strictly supervised, and I have a water pistol in case I have to explain the One House Rule again. Bojo is a nice cat, and he'll get over this, but in the meantime he's acting like a bully. And that being the case, it's necessary to make sure he doesn't get the opportunity.

There may be no out-overnight privileges for a while yet, either.

Bojo came out for a visit last night, and there was much sniffing. And a little hissing, and a growl or two, and then it was once more established that it doesn't matter that Coney is the biggest cat in the house, if it comes down to macho posturing he is always going to lose. He's not exactly being terrorized by his new brother, but he's learning to keep a respectful distance.

Vlad? Is not pushing the issue, which is good since he and Bojo both seem the type to kick arse if push came to shove and I'd just as soon it didn't. For that reason they are not being left to mingle when I am not home.

This is all going to work out, mind you, it's just that Coney's feelings are slightly hurt at the moment. There's a reason I never let him outside.