And Then There Were Two

Are you gonna come pat me now or WUT!

Gaston’s been MIA since late April. Oni saw him last week, a few blocks over from us, gadding about so I guess he’s fine. Maybe he found better, less crowded digs or a bigger feline doormat (unpossible!). Dunno but I miss him.

Coco in her castle aerie

Gus show’s his Eddie Haskell-ish mug a coupla times a week now but that’s all.

Jen and Michal have both suggested that, with warmer weather finally here, Gus is out looking for babes to shag and free range mousies to snarf.

Yeah, I expect so.

Rocco, on the other hand, has gone full metal schmooze beast. When I open the door in the morning, he’s invariably sitting right there...waiting. I step out with his brekkie, thinking he’s gonna dive straight into the bowl but no. First he must have a thousand and three pats and chin skritches. Afterward he performs his reverse tuck one-and-a-half somersault dive into the morning Sea Captain’s Choice Pâté.

One thing I’ve noticed of late — while I’m cosseting up our fierce warrior boy, he’s snatching squints into the house.  It seems clear, to me anyway, that he’s looking for Coco and not because he wants to make time with our sweet princess. Oh my, no. He’s looking to show her up — See?! Just look at all the lovin’ up I’m getting from the old broad. Clearly I'm her favorite!



For her part, Coco capers, coquets and jetés away the minute I step back inside and then, when I catch her, she gives my hands a good sniff over. You’ve been patting another cat, I just know it! How could you?!

Sometimes, when I open the front door, Coco and Rocco will sit and stare at each other through the glass of the storm door. Are they sizing each other up? Are they arguing over who’s the bestest and most beloved? Are they announcing their ownership with understated glaring authority? Are they tuxedo clad, feline Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, discussing the possible existence of gods other than Bast?

After their scrutiny fest they pretend that the other doesn’t exist.

Of course.

Rocco can be found, most afternoons, either in the beautifully overgrown deep grass of the next door yard or on our back porch — the summer palace. Coco? She’ll be up in her castle, surveying the kingdom from on high or in one of the open downstairs windows, keeping a sharp eye out for interlopers and rapscallions.

I feel safe and secure with my formally dressed guards.