Lately I've been inclined to notice that my pet-load is, for me, at a plateau of relative manageability. I've had more and I've had fewer, but Chessie, Freddi, and Hazel--while none the most easy-going of critters--have established preferences and ways of dealing with each other such that, pet-wise, we were as close to equilibrium as we ever get.
It is true that both Freddi and Hazel require expensive pills--Freddi for her funky dysplastic hips, and Hazel for her funky overexcitable immune system--but we've got everything tamped down to a sub-acute level, routines in place...well, they were.
There's a recognizable pattern that's followed me through life: As soon as I start telling myself "this, I can handle..." then it's time to look for the next ball to thwang, fast and furious, into left field. This time, the ball's name is Otis, and he comes to us thanks to BARCS (Baltimore Animal Care and Rescue Shelter,) and the fostering tendencies of Olivia's boyfriend's kin.
Otis just got neutered on Tuesday, and he's roughly the size of a large squirrel. He moved in last night, and Becca kept him company on the computer room couch where--if I have the story straight--she got minimal sleep, but experienced a good bit of pouncing kitten. As of today, his "room" is Freddi's dog crate (the one she uses for thunderstorms,) in the middle of the kitchen, where he can see (and therefore acclimate to) the noises and personalities with which he can expect to be surrounded.
This is a well-socialized kitty. No feral tendencies whatsoever, as he was born into foster care. You pick him up, and he shuts his eyes and yawns languorously, stretching a bit, anticipating a belly rub. But, with the other animals, he's got some stuff to work out. Only it's not his stuff, it's their stuff.
Freddi hasn't a maternal bone in her body, that I can detect. Possibly, it was located in the top ball of her femur--the one they took off due to dysplasia when she was 1 year old. But it's gone now, and--in her opinion--kitties should be toys. Hence, their interactions mostly involve Freddi bouncing at Otis, who sequesters himself under a hutch, or chair, until the dog is distracted by anything else. We must take care--Freddi's bouncing 45 lbs could be a safety hazard to a kitty who has not yet learned the value of a well-placed bop on the nose, claws optional.
Chessie and Hazel, both divas who merely tolerate, and occasionally taunt, each other, don't seem to be of the opinion that another cat was needed here. Hazel makes sure we're clear on her feelings...yes, I may rub her back...yes, I may turn on the sink a trickle for her drinking pleasure...but she's going to emit a low growly howl the whole time, just so I know I am NOT in her good graces. (Hazel would especially not appreciate Otis' countertop explorations today, when--upon discovering the kitchen sink--he promptly peed in it. I'm discouraging further countertop adventures for now.)
I am in good shape through the upcoming weekend. On Monday, Olivia will return to college, and it will be up to me and Becca (but mostly me, due to work and boyfriend obligations,) to keep everyone happy.
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