It's time for another postcard from the war. Three months in, and Zoe still refuses to integrate into the Pride. Every day is filled with stalking, growling, suspicion, and the occasional howling, swatting fight. I keep forgetting to check what's in my path as I'm drenching one cat or another with water from a squirt bottle. I've risked my electronics on many occasions. All I get for my efforts is a mad, wet cat running claws-out across my lap or my bare feet, several minutes later when the action has died down, meaning they are totally doing it for revenge. My confidence as a cat-whisperer is flagging. I don't know how to bring peace to the middle east coast. I've never met a more contrary, jumpy cat than Zoe. I often wonder whether moving to a new house will change the dynamics of the situation. If they all start out at the same level of displacement, will they compete for territory differently than they do here, with the four black and white units already established? It's the best justification yet for uprooting ourselves and moving yet again.
I think the only thing left to do now is to try to disarm the opposing forces, as much as I can. I'm not talking about de-clawing, of course. That is a war crime in my book. (Side note, the nurse prepping me for my screening on Monday said she was about to have it done to her cat, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and let her finish giving me an IV. I was done with her once she said that. She was dead to me.) We are trying to clip the claws, as best we can. But while most of the cats tolerate it with only a little squirming, in the almost two years of Athena's life, I have still managed to cut exactly one claw ever. And for my efforts I received the hardest, meanest bite, that tried its darndest to get infected. Yesterday the man thought he would give it a whirl. Athena - 1, Daddy - 0.
Today was yet another day of me calling for a surgery date, and of the surgeon's office staff taking my name and birth date, telling me they'll look for the test results and call me. Still no news. I have gone from wanting to avoid surgery at all costs to nagging the surgeon's office for a time slot, and the change happened in under a month. It's amazing what daily pain will do for one's priorities.
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