Mr. Tibbs is an eight month old tuxedo cat we adopted a month ago. Transition is a mild word for what we are going through, but I am probably exaggerating. We were used to unassuming “Sister”, our sweet, demur, but singularly unsocial, 11-year old resident cat. Mr. Tibbs is anything but unassuming. First of all, he weighs 14lbs. He just turned eight months. We think he has rabbit in him, in fact I am sure of it…clumsy rabbit, that is. Only one broken dish so far, but plenty of leveled pictures, books and memorabilia. I have cleared the tops of surfaces in hopes to preserve my collectables, and may adopt a more minimalist décor for a while.
His agile, destructive gymnastics reminds us how far removed we are from having a young cat. He’s grown on us, with his plaintive meow, (much like a toddler who wants attention) and his new behavior of covering his food before he walks away from it, something we were not familiar with, but is part of, I read, their instinctual innate behavior. Translation: more mess.
Speaking of mess. There was a few days in the first two weeks, I thought we would exercise our option and return him to the pet store. The wet bathroom rug is what almost did us (my Marine) in. Cat box crisis. We had never gone through it before now. We managed overcome the “outside the box” issue with an new, improved oversize cat box that I have aptly named the “USS Mess”. Whew!
Sister, tolerates him to a point. His early morning feedings we are still working on. I cleared off the left side of my desk because he knocked the phone and TV box off my desk onto the window sill, so he could better see “out there”. However, he has recently moved to the right side of my desk to nap.
Week five and we are settling into a peaceful co-existence…much like Downton Abbey’s Dowager Countess and Isobel Crawley.