|Licorice, Basement Cat's minion|
Perhaps it would be more accurate to say Truffle has a new nemesis. We got Licorice from the Animal Shelter on Monday. Truffle was sleeping on my bed when we came home with Licorice, and didn't notice that there was a newcomer in the house for about half an hour. (What a watch cat.) In that time, Licorice had made himself at home, not realizing there was another cat already in residence. When they finally encountered each other, there was a lot of noise, mostly coming from Licorice, but no contact. Truffle decided to head outdoors instead. He didn't come back in until 2 AM.
To ensure that I get any sleep at all, I've been closing Truffle in my bedroom with me and letting him out of the room when he asks. There seems to be a period of time between 3 and 5 AM when Truffle keeps needing to be let out, let back in, let out, let back in. At one point this morning, after letting him out, I could hear growls and hisses coming from the living room. For some reason, hubby was able to sleep through it. By time I got to the living room, Licorice was at one end of the room, and Truffle was in the foyer, actually an extension of the living room distinguished by a railing and change in flooring, which meant they were the farthest apart they could get and still keep an eye on each other.
I don't like Licorice. My husband wanted an all black cat, and he was the only one available, but I don't feel any rapport with him. There was a black and white cat, D'Artagnan, who glommed onto me as soon as we entered the cattery at the animal shelter, because he needed a human to let him in his cage where his food dish is. I should explain that the Animal Shelter has one large space, maybe 25 or 30 feet square, where the cats who have been spayed can roam free. They each have a cage with food and litter and there are some Salvation Army reject chairs for them to curl up on, as well as toys. Alas, D'Artagnan's dish was empty, and I could not convince him that I didn't know where the food was, but he kept following me around. If only he were all black, he could have been mine.
Licorice, on the other hand, did not make any particular impression, other than being all black. Once we paid for him and they were getting the paperwork together, we were handed a bottle of pills. "What's this for?" John asked. "Oh, he has some diarrhea and needs to take these for the next two days." Then a volunteer asked if we had been told about his licking problem. Uhm, no. It turns out he licks his butt while making odd ululating noises. Okay, he's starting to make more of an impression. Not a good one, just an impression.
Our vet, who has prescribed a few more days of medication, says he'll probably stop the licking now that he's no longer at the shelter. In the meantime, I'm keeping Truffle away from him as much as possible and letting hubby deal with medication issues. If they don't settle down soon, I might need medication myself.