Saint Kitty
How we ended up with such a mean old cat is a long story for another time. But it was a major worry for me, bringing a helpless baby home with this urban tiger who could maul him without a second thought.
The first few weeks she waited for him to leave. Then she sulked and avoided him. Gradually she came closer and got comfortable with him. He was just an infant and not very coordinated.
But now he is a six-month boy. Mobile, and faster than you would expect. And intensely interested in the kitteh.
We have been letting him pet her gently when she comes close. Just getting him to grab my finger and rubbing the back of his knuckles against her soft fur.
So tonight he is in my lap, the cat is on the arm of my chair. And he lunges. And grabs a handful of her skin and fur. And tugs. And pulls her hindquarters into my lap while I had a sudden vision of both of us shredded to ribbons.
But she didn’t hiss or swat or arch her back. She gave us a disgusted look while I untangled his little fingers and then settled her old self back on the arm of the chair. Sweet patient thing.
And he did it again. Lunge, grab, pull. Lightning fast. Cat in my lap, visions of certain doom in my head. Surely this time we would get taught a hard lesson about petting gently.
But she let it slide. The look was somewhere past disgust, but she shook it off, perched on the arm, waited for my alarm and shock to subside. And I petted our kind, tolerant kitty. Told her she was good, I was so proud.
Baby flapped his arms, thought better of it and settled down at last.
