It’s been nearly two years since Paco died, leaving me mostly petless. Mostly, because I had every-other-weekend and all of February custody of Walter. However, that’s all changing.
My sister and brother-in-law are selling their Minnesota house and he’s moving back to Portland with Walter. I have been, for the most part, devastated by this recent development. I was really hoping it’d go the other way, my sister and Sully would move back to Minnesota.
Alas, despite my deepest desires people continually to refuse to live their lives in a manner that makes me happiest. Fuckers.
Because my sister has a small apartment in Portland they can’t really cram two adult humans, two dogs, and three cats into the place.
And thus, I have three new feline overlords. They are Wendell, an orange tabby; Memphis, a pretty but stupid uh, not orange tabby?; and Charles, a very fancy and sophisticated long-haired tuxedo cat.
The CatPack have been here for three day and it’s been a trial by fire since they arrived. I forgot how in your business cats are. There’s bad blood, jealousies, cliques.
Memphis and Charles hate Wendell, mostly because Wendell is a kittenish dick still (I think he’ll be two sometime this summer). Charles is too fancy to really deal with either of them, unless provoked. Memphis is territorial and will give Wendell the stink-eye whenever he’s in the room. Last night the two ding dongs had a fight at like four in the morning, a fight that involved launching themselves off my once-sleeping body at each other.
Wendell can also open the cupboards, which isn’t at all annoying. Memphis is addicted to water from the faucet and will race me to the bathroom every time I stand up on the off chance he gets some of that sweet, sweet elixir from the faucet.
Every morning since they’ve been here all three of them have gathered in my room just as I open my eyes. I’m convinced they are planning a ritual sacrifice.