Torvald, Day 12: For the first time we enjoyed an hour of detente between the two boy cats on the first floor. (Nickel Catmium the mad Bengal is right out of it; titrating her into the mix will be a longer process.) It ended abruptly when Torvald decided he would try to walk past the spot where Fergie had stationed himself in the hallway; that was too close quarters and Fergie started trash-talking him. Of course, Torvald had chased him up the stairs earlier, so fair is fair, but Mom felt compelled to break it up before anything escalated; better not to imprint that memory.
They will work it out of course. In the meantime, Fergie is making his stand, as he did with Nickel, by waiting until I give Torvald an airing on the sun porch, then creeping stealthily into his private quarters, eating his food and touching his stuff. I let him; it gets them used to each other’s scent and gives Fergie something to be smug about. Every so often he scores a hit on the litterbox, the stinker.
Torvald, like most cats, is mainly interested in claiming a good elevated spot with an excellent view of the yard and then falling asleep. His preferred position looks as if his front axle has gone out of alignment, but he seems to find it quite comfortable.
Right now my karma with him is pretty good. Countdown to neutering: T-12.