The Waking Hour

My alarm is set for six. It’s a little earlier than I’d like, and earlier than others might need for an 8 AM job three miles from my door, but I hate being rushed in the morning: it sets the wrong tone for the day. So I get up early and ease into the day.

Dmitri’s alarm is set for five. Cats are cats, especially young ones like mine. They’re curious, and they’re agile, and although they have each other to play with Dmitri is generally more energetic than Ivan – if there’s trouble to be gotten into, it’s mostly Dmitri doing it. Dmitri’s the one jumping at the shadows reflected back on the blinds from the morning sun. Dmitri’s the one trying to open cabinets and jump up on bookshelves. Ivan’s usually the one watching the mischief from the TV stand.

Of course, as I’m writing this Ivan is playing with the bedroom door. So there’s that.

Anyhow, so lately Dmitri keeps finding ways to make noises at 5 AM. Knocking stuff over, jumping around, the usual cat stuff. Which wakes me up at the worst possible time, because I really want that last hour of sleep. But once he gets me up, there’s not much chance of shutting my brain back down and getting a few more winks in. I start thinking of how much I’d like to get some more sleep, what I have to do that day, how annoying it is to have cats wake me up when I just want to get some sleep …

When Gizmo used to do that, I would sometimes shut the bedroom door so he wouldn’t disturb me with his antics. That backfired because he hated being separated from me. He didn’t have to be in the same room with me, but he hated the idea that he couldn’t be. These two aren’t quite like that, so the closed door works – except that part of morning ritual at the Winter Palace is Dmitri jumping up on the bed to say good morning once the alarm goes off.

And I kinda love that part. He purrs as soon as I touch him, and he’s very sweet and affectionate. Ivan usually waits his turn, which about half the time involves me coming to him.

I love my cats, as much as they drive me nuts sometimes. They are now chasing each other around the house like maniacs.

A New Balance

Ivan and Dmitri seem to have found the ability to tolerate each other. Ivan’s still a little aggressive – he likes to bite Dmitri’s neck for no apparent reason. He seems to be settling in as the top cat, which I would not have expected.  Dmitri’s getting more confident and comfortable by the day, although he’s still a little skittish around me at times (even though I’m not the one biting his neck). But neither one is hissing, nobody’s yowling, and wherever they were when I got home this afternoon they were hiding there together.

Right now they’re chasing each other around the Winter Palace. This is the time of night when Ivan usually gets playful, and it looks like Dmitri has decided to join in.

This is good news. I don’t have to worry that I’m going to come home to a couple of shredded pets. I do have to start shutting the bathroom to keep from coming home to a mound of shredded toilet paper.

I’m a little more able to relax and enjoy them now. They’re both very sweet and affectionate, and so gorgeous: Ivan with his silver-grey coat, and Dmitri all glossy black. I’ve been trying to get some decent pictures of them, but my camera is slow and my cats are not.

Anyway, progress. It’s a good thing.

Sibling Rivalry

I have a beautiful black cat sitting on my lap as I type this. He’s Ivan’s brother Dmitri (formerly Hansel) – much more outgoing, friendly, and inquisitive than Ivan is. He’d be exploring the house right now if Ivan weren’t so determined to hiss and growl at him.

The two of them were fast friends back at the foster home. Dmitri seems not to mind Ivan – even the hissing and growling don’t phase him, until Ivan takes a swing at him. I made the mistake of assuming that since Ivan is sweet and loving with me that he would be with Dmitri – I forgot how territorial cats can be.

For the time being I’ve set up a home base for Dmitri in the bedroom. (It’s the only room in the house with a door and enough room for a litter box.) Dmitri is already adjusting well, which is good. Ivan is upset that I’m in here right now and he’s shut out. If I go out to spend time with Ivan, Dmitri starts yelling. I have no idea what’s going to happen when I try to get some sleep tonight. Good thing I have tomorrow off.

No pictures yet – I’ve been too busy keeping the peace here at the Winter Palace for snapshots. Dmitri is solid glossy black, even his nose. He’s a little smaller than Ivan – smaller bones, leaner. He has the same yellow eyes with the bright green ring around the iris. He doesn’t have the usual Russian Blue coat: Ivan’s coat is silver-grey, and both silky and plush. Dmitri’s is shorter and glossier without the thick undercoat. This leads me to suspect they’re not really brothers, but what I know about cat genetics wouldn’t dampen a thimble.

As soon as I get pictures I’ll put them up. I’m hoping Ivan will settle down and accept him soon.

Breathing

I’ve decided to adopt Ivan’s brother Hansel (we’ll see how long that name lasts). Ivan could certainly use a playmate to keep him company when I’m not home, and it seems like it could be fun to have another cat around. Pictures will certainly be forthcoming after I pick him up on Sunday.

As I type this, the silly silver beastie is lying outside the bedroom door on his back with all his legs in the air. He’s watching me and hoping I’ll finish this soon to play with him some more. So he’s trying to be as cute and ridiculous as he can. I think he also hopes I’ll forget about him trying to open the kitchen cabinets at six this morning. (Not bloody likely.)

Part of me is a little jealous of Hansel, oddly enough. Right now I have Ivan all to myself. Sometimes that’s annoying, like when he wants to play and I’m trying to work. But it’s often very nice.

It will be nice to have a second cat around. I hope so, anyway. I’ve seen two-cat households, and they can be adorable and wonderful. But part of me worries they’ll hurt each other fighting, or cause twice as much ruckus instead of wearing each other down, or perhaps conspire to wreak havoc.

It’s also nice to get a little flustered by a cute twenty-year-old flirting with me. I don’t think she means anything by it. That’s just as well, since she’s half my age and may wind up working for me when she’s done with training. Still, if I ever get to the point where I’m not a little discombobulated by a pretty girl smiling at me, someone should probably shout “stat!” and “clear!” and do a bunch of cool ER-style heroics. Or start the crematorium.

It’s nice to be able to joke around with my new friends and co-workers.

It’s nice to have my car paid off and have a little more breathing room in the budget.

It’s nice to have a new chair for my desk at home, so that my hours at the keyboard won’t be so hard on my shoulders, arms, and back.

Ian Tregillis’ Bitter Seeds is fantastic. George R.R. Martin recommends it. (Get back to work, Martin! You’re WAY behind schedule on “A Song of Ice and Fire“.) George “I Have Two Middle Initials, Same As That Other Epic Fantasy Guy” Martin is right. Go read it! Buy many copies. Give them as gifts. Donate them to charities. Go, for the good of the country, go!

Apple pie is nice. Whipped cream makes it nicer.

Things are not bad. Not bad at all.

Learning the Language

Ivan hardly ever hides under the bed any more. He seems to prefer sleeping on the TV stand behind my little flatscreen, which is cute and fun. He’s ignoring the enclosed and collapsible cat bed I got him, even though there’s a pocket of catnip built into it. Apparently he is immune to the Kryptonite of his kind.

I thought Gizmo was vocal, but Ivan makes him seem mute. When Ivan wants something, he can keep meowing about it almost non-stop. This isn’t a bad thing, since I can be a little obtuse and self-centered at times (especially when my fingers are flying over the keys). Apparently it’s a common trait for Russian Blues, along with the bright green eyes and gorgeous silver fur.

When I took his carrier out of the car to go up into the Winter Palace, he made these sweet little sounds – almost musical, like a cross between a kitten’s mewling and some kind of bird. It was adorable and beautiful. (It’s possible my happiness at getting another cat might have biased me.) He hasn’t made that kind of sound in a while, so I’m guessing it’s just something he does when he’s anxious.

He purrs a lot. He meows a lot. And he occasionally makes sounds that very much remind me of the sounds Gizmo made on his last night. Just thinking about that makes me tense up: my heart pounds, my eyes widen, and my mind starts thinking of a dozen things that could be wrong with my new friend.

But every time I check on him, panicked and desperate, there’s nothing wrong. He’s just unhappy that I haven’t responded to him yet – why aren’t we playing, NOW?  Of course Ivan has no idea of the Big Red Button he’s pushing. He’s discovered a great way to be sure he has my undivided attention.

We’re still learning each others’ languages. He’s learned what “no” and “get down” mean now that I’m supplementing my stern tone with a little spritz from the water bottle. I’m learning that his occasional loud yowling is an expression of frustration, not serious hurt.

This is what happens when you bring someone into your life. You learn to listen to what they’re saying, not what you’re hearing. You make space for another way to live, and you modify your boundaries to let them into your space. Or at least that’s how it’s supposed to work.

Surprising how much one can learn from an animal with a walnut-sized brain.