The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

Yes, those are Graymatter's eyes glowing in the distance. See below. Downyflake is reconsidering his plan to go through that passage.

It was August, 2001. My dear wacky little shelter cat, Alpo, had died a month before. On an out-of-town trip we stopped in a pet store on impulse and found an irresistible little orange ball of anxiety who has come to be called "Downyflake". He's downy, and he's rather a flake. .

But the idea was to have at least 2 cats. So back home we called the local cat rescue, and they steered us to a litter of foundlings who were being nursed to adoptable age at a local vet.
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I approached the cage with my hand out. A scrawny little thing reached through the bars with both front paws, grabbed my hand, pulled it up against the cage and began to lick it. "I think we have a cat," said Larry.
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At home that night, this 2-pound shrimp slept against my side and I lay awake all night afraid I would drop off too deeply, roll over, and crush those tiny toothpick bones. But that was the last night she slept through. Thus began a wild ride. Before 48 hours were up, poor Downy, who'd hoped for a friend, had accepted that fact that she's the household Alpha. The unusually high quantity of gray matter she has became clear. She is The Boss Of Us All.

For a month she never stopped moving. It was like throwing a Superball in the shower stall. She ran, jumped, climbed, and ran some more with brief breaks for food and naps.

Until 9/11. By that time, she was maybe up to 3 pounds. That day I sat glued to the TV and she never left my side. Whatever energy drove her, she corraled it for that day only. If I hadn't completely fallen when she grabbed me through the cage bars, I did now.
Graymatter embodies the extreme in everything. She's possessive almost beyond endurance. She's demanding and loving. And she earns the name The Bitchlet. If she doesn't get her way she punishes. She thinks that this lovely velvety throw is there to Make Her Happy, which is one of the few occasions on which we've fooled her. It's there because she is inclined to take out her displeasure on the furniture.

There was no sign of this behavior for 4 years. See, we had a plan. Cats laugh when you make a plan. The idea was to adopt a cat every 5 years or so and always have 3 --maybe 4. Never again did I want to confront the immense hole that losing Alpo left in the house or my heart. No cat can replace another. They're as different as the planets. I simply hated the emptiness. .

Marlowe appeared in the yard, half-grown as well as near-starved. The abandoned pet problem is huge here in this transient resort area. We got him fixed and immunized, brought him in, and tried to integrate him into the household. It was a mistake. He was too aggressive. .

For awhile I thought we had literally broken Graymatter's heart by inflicting this on her. I still think we may have broken her mind to a degree. The next attempt to adopt a cat, Scooter, should have worked, but she'd been too terrorized by Marlowe. Or maybe she's really a cat-hating cat. We'll never know if we could have done something to make additional adoptions possible. It's the road not taken.

The punitive behavior began. We tried keeping Scooter in his own part of the house. She peed on the door. Nobody was happy, and after the lengthy period he'd apparently spent outside before adopting us, he was ready to move back out. He now divides his time between the garage and the great outdoors.

Graymatter, meanwhile, had discovered her power. By destructive behavior, she drove Scooter out. It's now her modus operandi. Closed door that she wants to have open? Undesireable cat treat? Someone ran a vacuum cleaner?! Worst of all, houseguests, who by their very existence interfere with her expected lifestyle? Then it's time to express herself with what the cat books call "improper elimination." It can be a sign of a physical problem, especially if it's a new or unusual behavior. But I'm happy to say she's quite healthy. Physically, if not emotionally. She thinks it worked on Scooter and that it will work to get anything else changed that she wants changed.

St. Michael himself

can't help you now!

Once "she'd" eliminated Scooter, she sensed a withdrawal of trust on our part. It's well-founded. I love her like a Trill loves her Symbiont but trust is another matter. She needs love. They all do but her need is high. She gets it, but she gets watched. When we catch her we make sure there's no genuine threat, or legitimate offense, to her, and then punish her with exile from the family. It might be working. There hasn't been an incident in some time. Knock wood.

Meanwhile she isn't called Graymatter for nothing. She's out to charm the crap out of us by aggressive cuteness. Downy won't play. She plays. She chases napkin balls and does Swat The Shadow.

And often I find her looking down on me from the top of my desk, just keeping an eye on her Possession.

She's endearing. She's infuriating. She sleeps between my shoulder blades. Each day is an adventure.