(I know, I owe you the adoption story, but this is important. Ish.)
Last night, I brought Gibbs upstairs at bedtime. I placed him on a blanket on the floor. Spooky the Cat, age 20 (who sleeps in my bedroom), saw him for the first time.
If a cat can roll his eyes, that was the reaction. Spooky sauntered to the edge of the bed for a better look. “Disdainful and imperious” were my words for it yesterday.
Then I put the puppy into the crate and the nightmare began. Every combination of crying, yelping, howling and flat out barking. Spooky came and went several times during the night, as he is just too old for crying puppies.
I have no idea where that cat has spent the day, and I had no idea where he was when I came upstairs tonight and put Gibbs back in the crate. He cried for about 10 minutes and settled down. He was lying down quietly when Spooky came out from under my bed.
I don’t know how long he was under there. He approached the crate and the puppy started to growl.
If I hadn’t been thinking, “Oh, how cute,” I might have intervened. But I am glad that I didn’t since I generally feel that as long as neither animal can get hurt, I should let them work stuff out among themselves.
Do you know what that cat did?
He. Sat. Down.
Right in front of the crate. Right in front of that little growling puppy’s face. Just long enough to make his point before jumping up on my bed and sitting down next to me.