War? trump? Politics? Big deal, so what? I've got cats to negotiate with
It's true that dogs don't hold a grudge, but cats do.
This is my problem right here.
That’s Gustavo, Gus, on the left. Named in honor of the character Gustavo Fring from “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul,” of course. And on the right is Hazel, apparently short for Hazelnut, which I suspect my wife plucked out of the blue because she thought an Oregon agricultural reference would win me over into getting a kitten. Which we obviously did, so that worked. Just another conspiracy against me.
Of course the world and the nation have bigger problems than cats, chiefly Putin’s cruel invasion of Ukraine and the vile buffoon trump’s continued attempt to break America. But this particular anguish — call it cat climate change — has taken up most my time lately.
Gus is 3 and pretty much a legend in the neighborhood, because he goes with me and the dogs on our poop patrols along the bluff overlooking Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge in Southeast Portland. Everybody knows Gus. He’s probably visited every yard, tree, patio and driveway from here to the park, and a few roofs, too. He’s friendly to people but fast, wary and a good climber, so he can probably evade cars and coyotes if he has to. “He’s a GREAT cat!” as one neighbor exclaimed.
Hazel is 4 months old and shows every sign of being an absolute sweetheart. Smart, playful and a lap lover with just enough kittenish spitfire to make you laugh. A bright, funny girl on her way to being a great cat.
Certain human members of the household were sure Gus would welcome a kitten to play and pal around with because our third cat, Rosie, a bony old lady of 16, just wants to be left alone. So we got Hazel, Hazelnut, who is even striped black and grey like Gus. And like him she’s from Eastern Oregon; she came to the Oregon Humane Society from Pendleton, and Gus got there from La Grande. So they had that cowboy background in common, too.
But of course, Gus decided he hated her. Hated her with a hiss and a yowl, and immediately took to staying away from home for multiple hours at a time in pissed-off protest. He swiped at me hard when I tried to pick him up and cart him home against his will. “Get rid of that kitten, you traitor,” I think he said.
The other pets don’t care one way or the other.
That’s Blind Sunny and Toby, respectively, on the left, and bony old Rosie on the right. Sunny ignores the cats except for an occasional ruff if they get in her way. Toby is a friend to cats, always happy to share couch time with them or to buddy up in front of the fire. Rosie, the former feared assassin of rats, mice and birds, hissed at Gus when he first arrived two years ago but gets along with him now. She showed no reaction to Hazel, even when the kitten crawled under her to get at the plate Rose-Rose was feeding from.
So maybe there’s hope that Gustavo will accept Hazel. The negotiations so far have been like dealing with Putin and trump at the same time. We consulted experts, looked online, bought a new scratching post, put out extra bowls of food and water, treated Gus like a prince when he did show up and plugged in pheromone diffusers to calm everyone down.
The cats, I mean. The diffusers won’t work on us humans. We’re a mess with all the turmoil, disappearances and angry displays. Of the cats.
But this morning, Gus came in and ate like normal. He didn’t hiss or growl when Hazel jumped up beside him, twice, while he was eating. Maybe the pheromone diffuser is working. Supposedly it mimics the pheromones mother cats give off when they’re caring for kittens.
Wonder if we can spray some on trump and Putin.
I asked our cat, Boo, what she thinks about all this. Her response: “Meh. Got any more of those treats I got this morning?”
Hazel looks like a Bengal! Is she? Or is she just a regular, normal fur ball?