South Park Self

vaguely looking down at her socks

I have achieved Relative Feline Harmony! in that Pandora, who is a grumpy old thing but quite sweet and affectionate really, has more or less accepted Jyn as a member of the family, submits with commendable grace to being pounced on at intervals (they have amazing chase games thundering up and down the house) and has been known to hold her down and wash her head ferociously. Peak Acceptance was demonstrated in the Food Bowl Sharing Incident, which as far as I can work out resulted from a weird thing both cats have where they prefer to eat from the bowl on the left even if there's more food in the bowl on the right or if the bowls are identical and I swap them. Something about corners. Possibly.


Jyn continues sweet and idiosyncratic: she's weirdly uncoordinated for a cat, she still hasn't learned how to jump through windows, and she picks her way over cluttered tables and recumbent human forms with a curious lack of confidence, I think she may have balance issues. She is affectionate while retaining the feist levels which caused me to name her after a noted rebel, which means that she'll growl at you if you try to stop her doing something she wants, like run madly into the street to demonstrate her complete lack of road sense. She loves looking out of windows - her favourite spot is still on top of the piano watching the street outside - and I often catch her on my bed, thusly:


I think she hasn't worked out, lacking object permanence in significant ways, that the world she can see through the bedroom window is the same as the one she can access through the glass door into the courtyard. She gets wildly frustrated chittering at the white-eyes footling around in the ficus, but won't ever run around through the door to get closer.

This Random Unsolicited Feline Update brought to you by a subject line from the Magnetic Fields's "Irma", by way of a loose chain of free association whereby Irma waits by windows and the bowl-sharing photo contained, before I cropped them out, the be-socked feet of the photographer (me. You can tell by the blurring).

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