Emotions are settling down here at the Cat Farm. Mozart and Trooper both managed to sleep on the bed last night, albeit on opposite sides. Mozart has given over cursing, which is, I think, a Great Relief to us all. Which brings us to this morning’s situation.
Trooper came to work:
. . .and Mozart came in to check out his various places under the desk, and the rocker. He observed Trooper in position, and deliberately sat down — with his back turned, of course. He cleaned a shoulder, to show the depth of his unconcern, and then casually strolled down the hall, with nary a curse-word to singe the air.
Progress, we haz it.
And now I’m for the living room office and the Rest of the Manuscript.
From the photos one gets no impression of their respective sizes, although Coon Cats aren’t petite by definition. How old is Trooper? Age and size may be affecting the social dynamic here. Multi-cat households of my experience are usually ruled by the senior female, so Scrabble’s unconcern is a promising sign.