This morning Bugs pooped. A decent, respectable amount. Not the purple mountains’ majesty we had envisioned – but it’ll do for a start. I’m thinking of it like a local train.
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.
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!!