War has broken out in the
Ashbury household. Like most wars, it’s over “territory”, more or less. The
piece of real estate under dispute is that space of my writing desk between my
computer monitor and the tower. The two combatants are the dog and the cat. I
must tell you it is a war of aggression started by the cat.
Now, shortly after this cat
came to live with us (you may recall she just showed up one day), she decided
that her place would be on the desk. That was fine, the dog we had at the time
was a big dog, one that weighed over seventy pounds and had no interest in being
that close to me—unless of course, there were fireworks being set off in the
neighborhood. When that happened he wanted to be not only close to me
but under me.
After a few weeks, Puddy, as
she is now called (a name which beats Scary Kitty or Spooky Kitty, the names she
was dubbed with when she found us), tired of that place on my desk, and found
softer, more luxurious surfaces to sleep the day away upon. But she wouldn’t
stay in one place too long. The sofa, one of the chairs in the living room, a
kitchen chair, and the top of the wicker chest in my office all took their
turns—as did the bathroom counter and at one point, the bathroom sink. Sometimes
she’d want to come to the bed, but mostly not. It seemed like she would sleep in
one area for several days, and move on to the next. Rarely did she avail herself
of that original place on my desk, but I kept the towel there, just in
case.
Then times changed, we lost our
old dog and eventually adopted Mr. Tuffy. He had a baby playpen which we’d
bought for him, our version of a “crate” and that worked well. It was portable
and I’d have it in the office in the morning, and in living room in the
afternoon. Yes, that worked, until our daughter eschewed the use of it entirely
the first time we went to a conference after he became a member of the family
and she stayed here. Since the cat didn’t seem to care for it anymore, I began
to put him on the desk. He loves the desk! He can be close to me, sleep, and of
course keep an eye on the outside, on guard, if you will—since there’s a window
right there.
We bought him a bed after
Christmas last December, and put it on the floor in the office. At that time,
Mr. Ashbury still had his computer in this room, and if we were both web surfing
at night, Tuffy often wanted the bed which though on the floor was
positioned exactly between us.
The first sign of feline
aggression came shortly after we got that bed. Puddy decided that it would make
a better Puddy bed than it did a Tuffy bed. Just a note here, Tuffy weighs seven
pounds, and Puddy twenty-five. So when Tuffy trotted over to get in his bed one
evening…there was Puddy. She just fits in the bed, but obviously decreed
it was hers. For that day, anyway.
This continued off and on for a
few months. One day about two months ago, Mr. Tuffy was minding his own
business, on duty, as it were on the desk (sleeping, but there, ready just in
case) …when from out of nowhere the cat leapt from the floor beside me, up, past
me, and landed on the desk, beyond the keyboard, a perfect Puddy landing. She
didn’t land on the dog, a good thing, because she could seriously have hurt the
little guy. We’d come home from being out (Tuffy always goes with us or goes to
our daughter so if we’re out so is he) and discovered her there on the desk;
this was the first time, however, she pulled a full frontal assault, while the
territory was occupied.
Then she turned her patented
Puddy stink eye on him, and Tuffy proved he’s not stupid. He got up and asked,
in his own way, ears down and head bowed, for me to lift him off the desk. I
asked him if he was going to just surrender his territory so easily? Apparently
that was a question he deemed rhetorical.
This happens now at least once
a week. And when it does, there’s no growling from him, and no clawing from the
cat (she came to us with her front paws declawed), but the tension here can be
high. I’ve done what I can to protect the Tuffy space from attack as I work
away, here. But I must say it’s damned disconcerting when Puddy decides she
wants the desk, because what she wants, she takes.
Though heavy, and old, she can
still exert her position as head of household when she’s in the mood to do so.
This only reasserts that basic law of nature: dogs have masters, cats have
staff.
Love,
Morgan
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