Peace… Not that Complicated.

Little Fargo glanced up through the cold, steel bars of his cage. Our eyes met; his were a sea of blue, brimming with desperation.  His fur looked softer that clouds in July, and his little paws looked as though they had been dipped in sweet chocolate. He cried out to me with a heart-rending meow, his chocolate paws poking and prodding through the narrow prison bars. My spine softened… legs buckled… and it was all I could to look at Spencer with a straight face and say “No… we can’t… please don’t ask”.

While waiting for the store clerk (we were there to get worms for Raymond), I aimlessly strolled through the pet store, with my hopeful twelve year old quick on my heels.  I delivered one perfectly reasonable explanation after another as to why we did not need another critter in the house. We were there to get worms for Raymond… in and out… that’s it!  But, in true Spencer fashion, with each explanation I threw out there, he was good and ready with his swift and crafty catcher’s mitt. And let’s face it, I’m shamefully spineless. *sigh*

Needless to say… we got the worms for Raymond… and the kitty with the chocolate paws. *sigh* I couldn’t help myself!

Cookie is finally warming up to the idea of sharing her space with an impostor, but I can assure you… she wasn’t whistling Dixie when Fargo first came lumbering into her world. She is normally such an easy going little kitty-girl… it was quite a shock to know that she has a down-right ugly and vile side to her otherwise polite and loving demeanour! The first few nights were trying, to say the least. I drifted off to sleep somewhere in the middle of the night to the tune of “hiss, growl, wail, hiss, growl, moan, hiss!!!” It was endless… I was secretly hoping she’d lose her voice, just so we could get some sleep. But alas, this morning I witnessed progress. The old-timer and the new-comer were so intrigued by the ‘red dot’ darting about the carpet that neither realized they were almost touching noses. Progress indeed.

Clyde hasn’t put up much of a fuss about the kitten, but he has been especially sucky. Unfortunately, Fargo’s fascination with “chase the bunny” has not been well received by Clyde, who much prefers the game of “ignore the kitten” by retreating to my lap, tucking his little face under my arm. No worries though; nothing time and a few more squirts of the water bottle won’t fix. Fargo is slowly figuring it out. (I can almost hear Clyde snickering under his bunny-breath each time Fargo gets it.)  lol

Raymond isn’t bothered in the slightest. Once he realized that the kitten wasn’t going to eat him, he continued on with his normal routine of exploring and tasting everything in site, including the kitty. He even curled up against Fargo’s silky (warm) fur the other day and hunkered down for a little cat-nap. Aww.

At one point (during the hissing and growling and snarling stage), I wondered if perhaps I allowed my impulse to impair my better judgement. (Imagine that… gasp!). But then, while sitting on the floor last night, I noticed that guards were slowly but surely starting to crumble, as the critters gathered and circled around me and Spencer. They climbed and pounced over our legs, chased and chewed their fuzzy mice, brushed up against us with affection, and generally found a way to tolerate one another within the same small space… and I couldn’t help but smile from the inside out.  In their own way, our babies were sorting it out.

Who needs political leaders to agonize over the many challenges of world peace (and they’re doing such a fine job, aren’t they?)… please… I think my critters should run for office. :)