They think I don't know what's going on, that I haven't seen the bed, the litter box, the food and water in the store room. And now a scratching post has disappeared. A new cat smell has appeared downstairs. I'm playing it cool and hanging out like everything is normal.
I can't go upstairs anyway, because a workman is in the house, the thing I hate most. Strangers. Stranger making noise. Clumping around, disturbing a cat's peace and quiet, her most precious moments.
I heard them talking about the new cat who was in a carrier for almost 14 hours except when he had to be taken out to go through something called security. They said he sniffed at the litter, the food and water, snooped all over his new space and found a hidey hole where he settled down for the night. The visitor is totally traumatized by these new non-desert surroundings and his long journey. How glad I am not to have had his experience from yesterday.
I empathize. Do I look forward to meeting him? My mistress, who titles herself, "mommy," says I must be a gracious hostess. Quatch! Gracious and hostess are not in my vocabulary. Now it is time for my insulin, known in the household as my "meds." I get a yummy treat with my meds and sometimes catnip. Life is not all bad, especially when I am catered to and get my own way.
Moist food, fresh water, cat toys, and lots of brushing and attention. I do like to be petted.