I remember when we got the orange cat, he was so tiny that he could barely walk. If he wanted to get any place quickly, he kind of hopped sideways with his little tail sticking straight out behind him like a constant exclamation point.
It was up to the Butcher to teach the orange cat such important tasks as stair climbing and wrestling. I’m proud to say that he’s an expert at both.
When Mrs. Wigglebottom came to live with us, she had a lot of experience with cats, having lived with Simon, my brother’s cat that my parents got stuck with. Mrs. Wigglebottom loves Simon and she used to chase him around the house and he’d then chase her back.
As long as Mrs. Wigglebottom has been with us, the cats have been, at best, indifferent to her. At worst, they’ve done her like she’s Carrie at the prom. But like the sweet dope that she is, she keeps trying to befriend them.
Well, things had been tense here, since the black and white cat moved in at the very end of the dead end. He’s a bully. In fact, he’s such a bully that the tiny cat won’t go outside any more. But the orange cat has taken to fighting him and, usually, losing.
But the weekend before last? He finally kicked that cat’s butt. This resulted in him sitting around on the garbage cans bragging to everyone who would listen.
And tonight, there was another altercation and I opened the door and asked the orange cat if he wanted to come in. He declined, at first. But after Mrs. Wigglebottom barked at him, he sprinted through my legs.
And then, I swear, he spent a good ten minutes letting Mrs. Wigglebottom sniff him all over and wag her tail at him and he strutted around her and rubbed up against her like “Yeah, I am such a motherfucking bad-ass.”
Now he’s all stretched out in the chair asleep and even though he’s not a big cat by normal standards, he’s taking up that whole chair like he owns it. I swear, he’s practically smirking in his sleep.
If the tiny cat doesn’t knock him down a peg or two soon, living with him is going to be unbearable.