When I lost Raedthinn, I publicly proclaimed “no more cats,” knowing as I said it that that was a lie. The lie has now been established as such due to the recent introduction of “Banshee.”
Over the summer this cat started appearing at my front and back doors, during both day and night. Sometimes when I’d step outside she would announce her presence by loudly meowing in the distance, followed by charging up to me and behaving with human-friendliness rivaled only by Buttons. I inquired with neighbors; they did not know her. And so when it started dropping down into the teens at night, I broke my “no more cats” vow.
She has been given the all-clear by the vets, along with her shots. And she has been introduced to the other cats… and that is what earned her her name. She, it could be argued, *loves* me. But by the same anthropomorphizing metric, she FREAKIN’ HATES the other cats. She makes noises you don’t often hear outside of horror movies, at volumes rare outside of IMAX theaters. She’s been in for a bit over a week now, and has been generally separated from the others. They are all being gradually introduced and Banshee is *slowly* warming up to them… so long as they stay the hell away from her. From the other cats point of view Banshee is clearly insane and few things are more intrinsically interesting than crazy people so she’s fun for them to gather around and watch. And having an audience surrounding her ticks her off. So far there have been no actual fights, and as angry as she gets around the others she has yet to even *try* to bite me when I scoop her up. So I fully expect that she will sooner or later more or less fit in.
The vet suggests that she’s 3 to 6 years old. I suggest that she will become Jabba the Cat. Rare have I seen such a voluminous appetite.
Sigh.
Damnit.