Bugs had let go of the claw-launch wake-up game, apparently agreeing to find other ways to amuse himself.
Enter Teresa of TTouch.
(By the way, I checked with Teresa about the “Mother Teresa” bit. She graciously afforded me the freedom to say whatever I want on my own blog. But I could tell that comparing her to a Nobel prizewinner didn’t quite work for her. I wanted the moniker to convey my admiration and gratitude, but her ease of mind is more important to me. Hence, let me try to go back to forensic-reporting mode. That way you can make up your own mind and my hype will take up less of your bandwidth. I’ll just call her Saint Teresa of TTouch.)
One last time before we embark on the specifics, it may be helpful to take stock of what we do and don’t know at this point.
What we (probably) know (with a fair degree of certainty) about Bugs and me at this point:
And male predator stock at that
He was young and bursting with joi de vivre, energy, curiosity, and verve
My small house posed challenges in the territory department. I.e., too small for full free expression of his joi de vivre, energy, curiosity, and verve
I loved him with every inch of my being (still do; always will).
As to what I was clueless about:
How to negotiate with him, in any way other than complete freak-out on my part
Now I’m ready to talk about Teresa of TTouch.