Biding My Time

That "new" cat is still here.  I can feel him.  I can smell him.  Sometimes, I think I hear his yodeling.  I stay in the home office downstairs and take naps in the cedar closet.  After everyone but my mistress goes to bed, I come upstairs for Mommy/Kitty time.  Mommy/Kitty time is the best.  One of my scratching posts has disappeared, a suspicious circumstance. 

I haven't gone batshit again, but I don't have to like this.  Now I'm napping on the sofa.  Downstairs is cool without the summer heat.  Fur is warm enough.  I have a cream-colored cross on my chest, and sometimes my sobriquet is "Sacred Kitty." 

Maybe the Pope will adopt me.  I've heard he likes cats.  I love my mistress, and I know she's not responsible for bringing a new cat into MY HOUSE.  How dare they?  The thought makes my tail twitch. 

At least I'm getting my treats regularly and there's always a little can of moist food in my dish when I trek upstairs in the evening.  Good things come in small cans. Life has been stressful and a cat likes peace and quiet.    Why do humans have such a hard time understanding that.  Change is bad.  Repeat after me.  Change is bad.

Enough.  Back to napping.  Aloha.

Thisbe