Chillin' with the Herd

Rocco, the Lionhearted Grumpy Old Man

Sort of.

It may be 12,000 degrees hotter than Hades this morning, our herd of ferals may be calmer than usual but no, no, no, all is not quiet here in Valhalla.

Rocco was waiting at the front door when I came downstairs at 4:30 AM (Yes, you read that right -- I’m a morning person. Just deal, OK?), as usual. Gaston followed shortly after and Gus trailed in last. Who’s Gus? This is Greta’s new name now that Jen’s discovered our tiny fur-ball is a boy. I know I talked about naming him Grendel -- a fab name in my not so humble estimation but it just didn’t stick.

Gaston, taking in the view

There’s a modicum of peace on these blazing July mornings. Gaston isn’t howling his maelstrom of threats quite as much though Rocco, who’s become all Coeur de Lion ever since his mauling last summer, has taken to chasing poor Gus off when their paths cross.

Gus stands up to the much larger Gaston but not Rocco. Gus and Gaston both seem to understand that Rocco is now Dean Moriarty, Hunter S. Thompson and The Man with No Name by way of Yojimbo. They respect our focused yet gonzo warrior...as they should.

Gus, who prefers the shade under the cars, away from the paparazzi

After so many years of being coeur de poulet, I try to support Rocco’s new, hard won self confidence and self worth. No, I don’t help him run Gus off but I don’t scold him either. Rocco is fed first, is given treats before the others, lunch is brought to him when he’s lounging in the Summer Palace (AKA our back porch) and when chilly weather returns, he has his plush cat cave. And tuna -- regular gifts of tuna.

Coco, inconsolably hot, flopped out on the kitchen floor

In any case, when Gaston began his morning operatic protestations of Gus’ existence, I went out, armed with catnip and treats as usual. While patting the two of them, and skritching behind their ears, in soothing tones, I requested they take a deep breath. 'Now another. Release the tension from each muscle -- feel the stress leaving your body starting at the tip or your ears.'

Ah, christ on a hemp exercise mat, I was attempting to do yoga breathing with our feral cats.

As you might well imagine, this didn’t work out so well. However, another application of catnip and treats did.

Rocco was behind me as I rose to come back inside. Snickering. Swear to god, the damn beast was rockin' a smirk.