Charlie, Charlie, Charlie
Is under the sofa. He has been there all day.
Now, I don't blame him. After months of neglect he has been brought to a house with three other cats and two strange humans. He might be huge (and he really is) but that would scare the arse of most cats. He does venture out in the evening so he is doing very well.
The longer term feline residents are coping well with the adjustment. Harvey and Frankie seem resigned to his presence, and Ellie, though hissing, is too scared to actually start trouble with a cat three times her size.
Charlie loves the Baron. He sits on his knee after dark, when he ventures out and allows lots of petting. He sleeps on him at night.
Me? He hates me. He hisses at me, he turns his head away when I talk to him and he bit me when I stroked him in the night. Admittedly, I thought he was Harvey, and tried to roll him over, so I can understand it. But with 120 cats to choose from, how did I fall in love with the cat who loathes my very being?
Last night he climbed onto my pillow, and then hissed at me to get off. And did I? Yes. What else is a good cat slave to do, even if the said cat would prefer you to leave the house altogether?
I'm glad he is here, and that is he is out of that cage. I just wish he liked me.
posted by DMouse007 @ 2/18/2004 04:28:00 PM
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