Day one and things aren't exactly off to a flying start. The Interlopers were confined to barracks from the time they arrived yesterday afternoon. Barracks in this case being the spare bedroom, all fitted out with water, food, litter, and a double bed with a nice comfy duvet. So not exactly slumming it.
The one attempt made to introduce Grendel (home owner) to the Interlopers (who... well... interlope) resulted in one of them throwing a hissing fit. And a bit of distance didn't seem to help that any.
They had the run of the house today, while Grendel was out decimating the local mouse population, and were then returned to their penthouse suite while I went off to do exciting things involving haircuts and train tickets. But at quarter to seven She Who Must let them out to mingle with Little Miss.
Cue hissing from Interloper B, again.
Unfortunately Interloper B - called 'Wee One' for some unfathomable reason, as she's about the same size as a tiger seal - is black and large, the spitting image of a cat who terrorised Grendel about six months ago. So when Wee One hisses, Grendel runs for it.
Lovely. My cat is being chased out of her own house.
Now She Who Must thinks this is all just a passing phase and they'll sort it out themselves, but personally I'm taking Grendel side. I don't want her fighting over the house - it's her bloody house in the first place. I especially don't want to have to haul her off to the vet to get various things stitched. Because if that happens, I might well be making Interloper Cat Pie for tea.
Can you tell I'm not happy?
Labels: Cat, Trauma