Changes

The one thing that everyone on the planet should know about cats is that they hate change. HATE it. In fact, most cats would rather chew up change, swallow it, hack it up as a hairball, then bury it in the back yard. Most days, I would have to say that I agree with their perspective, except for the hairball part. Ick.

But change does come to all, even cats.

On the day that our cat Tiger died, which was three weeks ago, the only cat in the house who seemed to notice was Pounce. She paced, she called, and she remained agitated for most of the day. I understood her angst; Tiger raised her from a kitten. Since then, she's been acting a bit schizo. Well, more schizo than the average calico.

Morris, being a boy cat, immediately moved downstairs and started rubbing his face on everything to mark it. He wanted to go outside and mark everything out there as well, including the neighbor's Pomeranian. The little dog did not appreciate being stamped with the Morris Seal of Approval, and that ended Morris' adventures outside. But he's become much more bossy since Tiger has gone.

And about a week after he passed, we found the kitten Zena wedged under the bed in the exact spot that we found Tiger. Pounce was stalking her. It took us a bit to get her to come out, but we did, and she's seemed okay since. I guess that she had to say goodbye in her own way.

Even Lalo, the feral cat who lives in the backyard, began pressing his face against the glass of our back door every chance he gets. He has been spending the night on our back step instead of his perch in a patio chair. He seems to be looking for something, and we think he's looking for Tiger.

Or food. You never can tell with cats.