The Adventures of Caterwauls and Vomits

I believe we are in a holding pattern. Six a.m. arrives and I wake and Stella meows. And meows. And meows until the first of 3 or 4 morning mini-feedings. Unless she's patient. Which is almost never. Maggie, sucking down her food in seconds, eyes Stella's food until I leave and then she digs in when Stella wanders away. I notice Stella not eating and I run back into the kitchen. Maggie looks up. Sometimes--not always--she pukes towards the end of the morning feeding.

At any moment during the day or night we can look up and see a tumbleweed of arms and tails rolling down the hall, like the cartoon version of fighting, until a prolonged scream (usually Stella--and she's the one who starts it) and they bolt in opposite directions.

Maggie's box has moved out of the den and into Stella's WC. And then there will be one.

Stella won't be carried or pet unless she's in the sanctuary of the main bathroom or the outdoor hall.

Maggie only enjoys being brushed these days and only in the den.

I'll say it again: this version of having two cats is not what I expected. I'm sort of getting used to it. It's an odd thing to wish on oneself.

I'm so excited: the latest cat issue of the Drs. Foster and Smith catalogue just came in!