Postcards

Had the usual gang over last night. Zeppo skitted through once, and hid the rest of the evening. I give him credit for trying. And he gave us a short aria just as our friends were getting ready to leave.

This morning he was on the tree, until he saw me, and apparently decided he wasn't sure if he was allowed there and scurried off. So, I settled in the comfy chair with tea and rice this morning, Eleanor came and sat on the arm, Zeppo watched from the floor. He came over, put a paw up, she jumped off (over him, as she does) and he hopped up for a short cuddle. As if to say "Ok, she was up there, so maybe I'm allowed as well." He watches her closely, and as Crow says, she does seem to be showing him how to be here. She is the senior cat in charge of his orientation.



They also play, short bouts, and not violently. They are definitely becoming good friends.

Both on the tree. Not great video, very backlit. But indicative.


Zeppo is very nervy, with flashes of luxuriant affection, abundant curiosity, and impressive vocal virtuosity. Watching him grow confident, seeing the real personality emerge from the fear, is going to be wonderful. He doesn't seem to be food motivated, like Eleanor always was. Doesn't seem to react to catnip, or my sneezes. Doesn't seem to have a fabric preference, as Moby loved wool, and Eleanor polartech. He's good with being picked up, if he's not in full flee!flee!flee! mode. He's really good at stealth. No biting or scratching tendencies that we've seen. As Dylan says, Zeppo is is own cat.

It is nice to be able to put down throw rugs and bath mats, and not have them immediately soaked with urine. This was not a new thing with Moby, he loved peeing on rugs, from when he was young and we first had him. I kept thinking about the truism of working in a nursing home. Families will take care of grandma, until she starts peeing on the sofa. Well, we took care of Moby as he pissed on every rug, buying extra to put down and keep them washed. It was only when he kept missing all the rugs in the last few days, that we realized how bad he'd gotten. If it hadn't meant his body was shutting down, we'd have just mopped up with the occasional "oh, Moby."

An old memory surfaced, the younger of my elder brothers bugging at me for how I walked. I was perhaps 5 or 6, and was playing with sashaying. He thought this was utterly wrong, and I had to keep my hips level at all times. He was perhaps 14 or 15. We were at Aunt Evelyn's house, playing in her front yard, on the steep sloped grass. To his credit, I think it was intended, in as much as there was any intention, to protect me, in some vague sense. And I felt at the time that he was fundamentally wrong in whatever assumptions he was making. It made me aware of my body movements, self conscious at times.

We've been getting postcards the whole time we've lived here, "We want to buy your house!" Which is not a good deal, because what they do is pay what you owe, and no more. Recently, this has escalated to phone calls. Still no. Nope. Not a chance. But the bubble is expanding frightfully, and our place is valued at nearly twice what we paid (are paying) for it. Which is ridiculous, of course. Which also reminds me of a former cow-orker who thought me silly for cashing in an IRA for the downpayment, all the fees! The lost interest! More than made up for by the appreciation on House. And we have a house to live in. Given how the rents here have skyrocketed it means we have an affordable place to live, and will continue to have one. With a garden. And a place for cats.

So, anyone want to swap postcards?