Didn’t last long, though.  Fangie got rambunctious.  Bugs prairie-dog’d him.  Fangie ran off.  I praised Bugs.

This was yesterday.  This morning the same pattern repeated itself — only this time, Bugs bumped Fang off the raffia mat, paraded around basking in my praise, and then stalked off to attend important business in the other room.  Now Fang’s grooming on the raffia mat,  Bugs is elsewhere, and I get to write this post in peace and quiet.

Pee Ess:  Don’t tell me, I know.  I need to clean the window.  Hopefully those drips were left when Fangie was still sick.

Then, later, I heard Bugs playing in the other room with his favorite Chip-N-Chirp ball.  Fang jumped up to join him.  Again sans incident.

I think this may be an important turning point.

The key understanding happened earlier last night.  My long-time cherished cat-lover friend  Kim is a principal member of my Cat Guru Consultation Committee.  Wednesday nights are our time to talk on the phone.  The boys know their Auntie Kim.  Each time I’ve been on the phone with her, something important goes down.  Most memorable was when Fangie broke out of quarantine, four days after gotcha-day.

Last night the hostilities started up again, but this time Kim was right there on the other end of the line to hear the blow-by-blow and to advise.  Here is the point she made last night.  It seems so important it deserves bold type:

The resident cat must be supported, validated, encouraged, and praised.

I had it backwards.  My human-projection thing revolted against Bugsy’s aggression; I simply can’t stand it when I see power used this way.  I needed to jettison that.  Bugsy has been upset that his relationship with me has been upended.  I have tried to protect Fang from him, at a time when Bugsy is trying to make his crucial point that he is boss cat, and he has been confused and upset by this.

He has gone into a Dark Place.

In Fang’s part, he may have perceived an advantage to be got by flaunting his “special status” with me.  “Nyah, nyah, she loves me more than you.”  I needed to discourage that, and to encourage Bugs’s self-assertion instead.

Kim demonstrated how she had done this with her resident dog Ivy, when introducing her two new cats Stewie and Meezer.  Can you believe it?  When she used the “special voice” reserved for that purpose, I could hear Ivy instantly start barking at the other end of the line!  Too hilarious.

It worked — here’s a rendition of a photo of Ivy and Stewie.  Artwork by the wonderful Here There Be Spiders.

So last night, with Kim’s excellent example before me, I did things the other way round.  When Bugs went after Fang, as long as I could keep things reasonably safe, I encouraged him.  Not exactly egged him on – but validated and praised him.  And I broke things up only when they got too hairy; i.e., when fur started to become detached from body.  I didn’t even need time outs – all I had to do was deploy my Cesar Millan “calm-assertive” impression.

It seems to have worked. Bugs seems to have returned from the Dark Place.  He is the Bugs I used to know, before the no-eating no-pooping constipation scare.

Later this morning the boys played together twice.  Twice I saw Fang break out his signature  instigating move, where he lurks, and then leaps in the air and comes down on Bugs’s back.  Bugs was his professorial unperturbed self and let the matter pass without comment.  I praised him to the skies and gave him a treat.

Here’s Fangie keeping an eye on Bugs.  I love how his legginess spills over the chair.

Here he is at the exact moment his little eyes began to close in a love-blink.  What a sweetie.

Here Fang is mind-melding a question to Bugs.

Bugsy receives transmission.  “You want me to demonstrate my Top Cat No. One Gold Medalist of the Universe prowess?”

Sure.  Happy to oblige.

You can’t do this, you know.

I have very fancy feet.

And by the way.  Poop Patrol 2012, with the nation’s gratitude, you may stand down.

The stone is needed for ballast.  Fang, in his adolescent legs-too-long-for-body, keeps knocking over the box.

What.  You thought something else?

Time for maneuvers.

Fang takes the citadel.  He quotes Monty Python:

“Take that, you English pig-dog!  I f*rt in your general direction!”

Bugs assesses his strategy options.

What are the potential downside risks?

Bugs goes for it.

The ensuing donnybrook was so passionate, the marshal needed to step in and impose time out.

After, it was to laugh at Bugs’s response.  You could hear him clear as day:  “I am Top Cat No. One Gold Medalist of the Universe!!  You upstart pup, you, you cannot possibly follow where others older and wiser than you fear to vault!!”

Top this —

– if you dare!

Yes, Bugs.  There was never any doubt.  Never.  You are Top Cat.  Our only question, when you say “jump,” is – how high.  And we know.  It better be higher than the door.

And here’s how things ended – Peaceable Kingdom.  Just before Bugs relocated to refuge in Top Shelf aerie and Fang decamped into the other room.

Next a really happy moment from yesterday.  Ever since Teresa’s husband installed the cat-shelves, back in July 2011, Bottom Shelf has never been used.  Not since Bugs first checked out the set-up – other than that, not once.  Just as a way for Bugs to make re-entry from Top Shelf, through Bottom Shelf, onto the Launch Chair, to splashdown.  No stopping in mid-stratosphere to enjoy the view or anything.

Back then, when Teresa and Kim and Melanie were instigating suggesting another cat, Teresa pointed out how lovely it would be to have one cat in one shelf, and the other in the other.

It’s finally come to pass.

Is this really a good idea?

The Paw of Doom cannot reach.

And so, dear readers, just as you predicted in your wisdom — we are beginning to have some fun here.  Not before time.

How about closing, courtesy Mr. Fang, with –

Cuteness Overload.

Take your time, Bugs.  No rush.  As long as some freight gets through.

Yesterday was nuts, though.  The Sharks-Jets rumble you know about.  Then time out.  On which point it seems we have some discussion.

In relegating Fang and not Bugs, I think I had the notion that Base Camp is essentially Fang’s safe house and it might be more comforting for him to recover there.

Some of you thought, though, that the aggressor should be the one locked up.  But I think that if the cats are going to rumble to establish position, they are going to rumble.  So it seems they’re both in it together, and aggressor-nonaggressor negative reinforcement doesn’t really make sense to me.  Isn’t that more human thinking than feline?  I’m just proposing here.

Then there was the afternoon hork that had me in the complete cramp from which I wrote last post.  I had assumed then that Bugs was the horker.  As events developed later, however, in retrospect I am pretty sure it was Fang.

Can’t remember how the evening feed went; I think OK.

Then I was glued to “Downton Abbey.”  This was the final episode and unless this house fell down around my ears, I was in England and I just didn’t care what happened here.

The boys took this as an opportunity to raise hell.  They thundered careening around for at least an hour and I successfully ignored everything.  Then, just as Bates was about to be executed, I heard –

That awful sound.

In Base Camp.  This time I know it was Fang, because – never mind.  Take my word for it.

Is there such a thing as copycat yakking?

Or else it was just excitement.  Or else [cue sound of kicking self; insert self-empathy effort; conclude Bean herself has been stressed beyond ability to bear] my issues with my new food mill meant I, in frustration with it, left some lumps in the sweet-potato-oatmeal base, and Fang may have swallowed these when he shouldn’t have.

In Bean’s further defense I would like to point out to the jury that it was no help whatsoever that the blender chose the moment it did to burn out on me.

Never mind.  No need to dwell on injustice here.

Bates got his reprieve; Lady Mary and Matthew finally got engaged; and I was just too burnt-out to lock Fang back in Base Camp.

So this was the first night we all spent together.

I woke up around 2:00 a.m. to find Bugs in his usual place by my feet – and Fang in my arms.  Like the holy family in the manger.

This morning I separated the boys for feeding time.  Bugs got his stool-softener and Laxatone; both boys got super-gentle food.  Bugs choked most of his down –

And I fed Fang in Base Camp.  And here’s an inspiration I’m proud of (at the moment, and let’s just refrain from taking honor for it until we see whether it actually works) – I did t’ai chi with Fang’s string toy, in Base Camp, and we played gently.  Giving both boys some quiet digestion time, and me some quiet time period (naturally I hadn’t eaten my own breakfast yet, what did you think?) before I opened the door for the games to recommence.

So now I’m going to stand back, see what happens, and simply make my visual restatement by republishing yesterday’s picture.

I’ll say no more, but for this to the boys.  The match has been won on decision.  Bugs is the declared victor.  Now:  PEACE.

Lennon wall in Prague, Czech Republic

Editor’s Note:  Just before publication, we found Laura and Taffy’s comment providing a link for us to study up on feline constipation.   When time permits, we plan on absorbing every word and graphic there; this is one of the best sites we’ve ever seen — anywhere, but especially on this most-compelling subject.  Thank you Laura and Taffy!!

It looks like this morning’s presentation was a caboose and not the whole train.

This afternoon Bugs went at Fang to the point of Fang screaming and hissing and delivering a scratch to Bugs’s nose.  When I put Fang back in Base Camp, I found Bugs had puked in there.

Fang is fine; he’s still up for more playing.

Bugs looks peaceful.  Grooming.  But I could brain him right about now.  I am dispirited to the point of saying:  I can’t read him at all.

I’m thinking about Monday.  What are you thinking?

Pause for applause.

Not a great deal came out — but surely the main thing is, he’s remembered how.  And also, I figure first-in first-out, so wouldn’t this be the hardest bit?  So to speak?

Let’s see how the day and night progresses, before we make the call about Monday.

Your thoughts?

In the meantime, how about this.  The green thing is the excellent treat-dispensing toy Bat-a-Rat:

Bugs still has not produced — but I keep telling myself he hasn’t thrown up either.  In the front end has not gone the high-quality food plus slippery elm plus cod-oil — he won’t touch more than a few bites of that.

I could dwell on the first phrase of that last paragraph and repeat that nothing has come out the opposite end but I will not. I will focus on Bugs keeping food down.  Not the good food, but decent-enough kibble soaked in cod-oil, plus Laxatone plus stool-softener on top of that, per the vet — so, OK.  I’m still worried about moisture — but OK.

Here’s what I will also focus on, per your encouragement:

I can say for sure now that Bugs and Fang are playing together.  It is much too cute and awesome for words.  They’re doing it right now as I write this.  They are thundering around chasing either other –

How do you do that, with pipes as full as Bugs’s?  But I am not supposed to dwell on this and so I will retire the question unanswered.

As I was saying.  They are playing.  Fang throws his arm around Bugs’s neck and nose-kisses him.  Bugs puts up with this.  Bugs baps Fang.  Fang baps Bugs.  Bugs wrassles Fang to the ground.  Fang ditto.

They look like they are killing each other.  Their passion frankly scares me.  I’m telling you, it’s all out.

I mean, I would say it’s all out — but I know it’s not.  All-out would be ears back and so forth, and include sound effects to freeze radiator-fluid.  The only sound effects that are happening now are Fang’s little chirps and what sound like questions from Bugs.  And thundering and various crashings I’m also not going to dwell on.

I spoke to the vet and she was all for administering the enema this morning — but what I really wanted to know was could we wait for nature to take its course until Monday.  She was OK with that, but emphasized if he hadn’t come up with the goods by then . . . .

OK.  I said I would not dwell on this.  So let me tell you another thing that cheered me up. It was at a funeral.  (My land, what a life.)  I like my bank manager a lot and his father died.  So I went this morning, given I didn’t have to attend Bugs’s evacuation.  Here’s the story:

My bank manager’s father and mother were married for 57 years.  The father died this past Tuesday, on Valentine’s Day.  But not before making sure that a dozen roses were delivered to his wife.  On the day he died.

photo by Georges Seguin

People burst into tears, hearing the minister tell that story.  I never met the man, and so I did not know him — but I know his son, and I know I enjoy going to the bank every time, and that’s why I was there to witness this most moving moment.

Moving.  Moving.  Bugs — do you hear?  MOVE IT!!

OK, OK.  I will close this post and go eat something.  Bye til later.

What she found on physical exam was that his belly was distended.  What she found on the X-rays was that he is constipated.  And she says that could make him throw up.  Simple as that.  Thank Cod.  When you think of crystal in the urine, impacted colon, IBD — we’re thanking Cod that all it is is constipation.  She ran tests on him to rule all that stuff out — and Bugs passed with flying colors, I rejoice to say.

(I noticed this morning that when Bugs did pee a little, his tail was quivering.  I know the vet was thinking urinary problems and my blood ran fairly cold as she kept asking, So, you think he was straining to pee?  Well, I replied, I don’t know enough to interpret it that way — all I can do is report what I saw.  So now, knowing what we know, maybe all that was was just him being upset in there.)

And where his sensitivity comes in, the vet thinks that if this isn’t a hairball thing — and I don’t think it is, he’s never had a problem with that in the past — then he’s simply stressed.  Fang’s been in the bathroom inspecting Bugs’s litter box, from time to time — I don’t think Fang’s ever used it, he uses his own — but the vet thinks him just poking around in there might be enough to get Bugs worried enough to affect his own use.  That’s where Bugsy’s sensitivity comes in.

She said her staff can leave the office at the end of the day with all cats having clean litter boxes, and come back the next morning and, overnight, everybody’s used the facilities.  She thinks it’s that they require the activity and bustle of the office to stop, before they can produce.  They want their peace and quiet and privacy.

Just like his mama.  You might like to file this next bit under too much information — but Bean herself has similar issues using public toilets, for the same reason.

You should see those films.  The vet says she’s seen a thousand times worse — but let me tell you, those are some backed-up pipes on the boy.

Kim pointed out that in that condition, in pain and discomfort, maybe that’s why Bugs wouldn’t eat.  Why would you want to keep tamping stuff down at the front end, if it won’t come out the back?

So the vet gave him an anti-nausea injection, recommended Laxatone, suggested I bump up the fiber in his meals, and sent us home.  She will be available tomorrow to give him an enema if need be, but she said she’d prefer not to stress him with that and, rather, hope that nature will take its course.  She also recommended that I go into the bathroom with him and shut the door; hopefully that will reassure him that Fang won’t interrupt the proceedings.

So what’s happened so far is that Bugs has scarfed down the Laxatone — he loves that stuff.  He’s turned up his nose yet again at the meal I prepared with chicken-enhanced-with-tuna-oil — but I did get him to eat a smidge of yoghurt laced with slippery-elm and then, after that, some chicken baby-food and sweet potato-oatmeal base.  So far all this has stayed down, and that’s a terrific improvement.  When he was hoiking stuff up, it was pretty much immediately after he’d eaten.

And the funny chewing and head-movements?  It dawned on me, preparing the food tonight, that I had some issues with my new food-mill and there were some lumps in the base.  (I tell you, all this detection is making me tired.  CSI in the Ozarks, happening over here.)

So we’re on litterbox vigil now.

I am very very very glad to understand, now, why Bugsy’s fur may have been so ruffled yesterday when I took this snap:

No Vacancy.

As I wrote to Amy, when I was prepping just now for the visit, reviewing the blog and taking notes, I now see with intense concern that Bugs has been off his food pretty much since Fang arrived on January 28.  That is one hell of a long time!  I am now chewing nails at the coincidence that led me to assume — hope — that this was behavior-related because of the introduction and that things would settle down. Now I see they’ve got worse.

I am flummoxed.  But for not eating, Bugs seems fine.  Ears and nose cool and he beat the beejeesus out of Fang several times this morning.  Plus he’s been using the facilities commensurate with the (tiny) amount of fluid and food he has been able to hold down –

What could this be?  The only thing I can testify to is that when I was spoon-feeding him last night, a little of the ground chicken, I noticed he was chewing a little funny and making odd movements with his head.

I don’t see how I can make it til the vet at 2:00; I’m pretty much beside myself.  I hope your comments come in soon.  I’ll be glued here waiting — I’m good for nothing else.

“I vant to be alone.”

Then, when I set before him his half-portion of real food, he ate it.  All of it.

I do wish that was the happy settling-down that I – that we all – have been waiting for.  Alas, it was not to be.  The direction was not down but otherwise.  Yakk city.  All of it.

The good news, though, is that custodial service personnel were right behind him, in the form of Mr. Fang.  I’m pleased to say personnel did a bang-up job of mopping up.  (The less details furnished on this point, the better.  Let me just say that when I entered into this contract, I did not know I would be subjected, before I had my own breakfast, to the sight of this kind of thing.  My fault I’m sure; I failed to read the fine print.  Doubtless it’s in there somewhere and I just missed it.)

After the by-now-usual morning skirmishes had subsided, Bean repaired to the bedroom to work.

Fang helps Bean write a legal memo.

Bugs shows up; Fang makes his move.

Bugs:  I don’t think so.

I’ll just crowd you out.

Here’s a little extra inducement.

The ground is yielded.  (Come on, Bugs, close the deal.)

Nope.  Bugs slopes off.  Look who moves in.

I like it here just fine.

In the cat-bird seat.

A historic unprecedented first.  Fang actually closes his eyes.

Uh-oh.  Not so fast.

Well, maybe on second thought . . . .

This might work out after all.

And in any case . . .

. . . there’s always Top Shelf to go back to in the end.