If things go on this way much longer I will be renaming this blog “The Center for Feline Politics.”
Been here before, done this before, but it’s always ticklish. I am not sure whether I am more Metternich or Kissinger, though with cats it’s always about Realpolitik.
Fergie and Torvald encountered briefly this morning; once Torvald had focused on the presence of another cat in the area, he gave chase with a yowl, and Fergie (never really alpha at the best of times) dove under a sofa table and defended his position with a good rolling moan and hiss. Torvald answered, gave a tentative bop with his paw, then stepped back and began to roll from side to side on the floor in the universal kittenish gesture that means “let’s play!” (Play can include some robust tussles, but they tend to be highly ritual and stylized.) Fergie was having none of it. Torvald had said rude things and an apology was required, dammit. He blackguarded Torvald in a low and menacing tone until Torvald, confused, began to alternate pot-shots and play rolls, and I had to scoop him up and tote him down to his sanctuary in the laundry room, all four limbs waggling indignantly.
I don’t know who in the field of international relations might try that if a negotiation were going badly. Hillary Clinton, maybe.