Things have returned to normal, but for a while there, the going was a bit rough for our cat, Pete.
The problems started a couple of weeks ago for the big all-white, blue-eyed boy when one of our daughters decided to no longer be a cat owner, and brought her small, brindle female, Mona, to the Davison house.
My wife, Wendy, and I thought it might be fine, and that Pete might like having a friend, especially a cute little girl kitty. We also figured Pete might become Mona’s big brother, so to speak, and she would be glad to be taken in by such a dashing, experienced man.
Nope.
About as soon as Mona got out of her carrying crate, she lived up to her name by moaning in the direction of the great white land shark, and kind of showing him up on his own turf. Pete moaned back, but didn’t take his protest beyond that. Instead, he more or less gave way to the newcomer and spent several days pouting in the general area of the detached garage or in the back yard. Meanwhile, Mona donned her crown and literally took over Pete’s kingdom.
She would sit where he always sat, lie down where he always laid down and seemed to mimic his every move. It was a little weird, really; like she was doing it all on purpose.
I once thought I heard her say (in a voice somewhere between that of Aunt Bea and Edith Bunker), “whatcha gonna do big boy?”
I’m pretty sure he answered back by mumbling (in a voice akin to that of Jimmy Stewart), “self-centered, arrogant, meddlesome woman.”
“What was that?” Mona said.
“Nothing – I’m good,” Pete said.
“I thought so,” Mona said. “Let me know if there’s a problem I can help you with.”
“Only if you just go away,” Pete mumbled.
“What was that?” Mona said.
“I said, ‘that leaf is about to blow away,’” Pete said.
Now, understand that Pete spent about nine years being half feral as an integral part of the unusual animal assortment at our remote Texas County high country outpost. This guy would spend days at a time away from the cat station in the shop building, and we knew he was known as a tough hombre in the neighborhood.
Basically, Pete ain’t scared of nothin’, which made his behavior around his female intruder all the more curious. You would think that when Mona moved to usurp his authority, he would have risen up and said, “no ma’am, this here would be my place and it’s gonna stay that way.”
But whether out of some sort of misguided chivalry, a feeling of betrayal or abject disgust, Pete took a course we didn’t foresee and after several days we knew we had to help him out.
Thankfully, some friends of ours had been considering getting a cat for their new spread south of Licking, and they took Mona off Pete’s – I mean our hands.
The result was doubly successful.
Mona (as I knew she would) pretty much took over their home shortly after her arrival, which was OK since there was no established cat to derail. Meanwhile, Pete went right back to his routine, not as if Mona had never been there, but with an obvious relief and gratitude.
“Whew,” he said. “I was really worried that she was here to stay and I wasn’t ready to vacate the throne.”
The queen is gone. Long live the king.
Doug Davison is a writer, photographer and newsroom assistant for the Houston Herald. Email: ddavison@houstonherald.com.