Settling Down

In the early hours of this morning, Bugs, purring, joined me in bed again.  The last time he did this was days ago.  Since then, he’s been doing his Garbo impression.

“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.