Our family adopted a tiny, very pretty little black and white cat from a shelter in the suburbs in the summer of 2000. We named her Misu. And until earlier this summer when my daughter lobbied hard and with ultimate success for another "animal rescue" as she called it, Misu was the only feline and except for a brief cohabitation with a turtle that escaped upstate (don't ask) the only quadripedal non-human amongst us.
Misu has always been furtive--even rather retiring in nature. She is a house-cat, and has been known to lie in the same spot on the same couch for hours on end. She never has gone outside (except for one mad dash during a car-house transfer many years ago of which she rapidly thought better), and never has had long periods of interaction with other animals. Well, there was the turtle, covered by mesh that she often bothered; and the brief presence of goldfish whom she hunted, without success, by dipping her paw into the water over and over again. And perhaps as we might have taken better note, a month when a neighbor-cat stayed with us and left poor Misu utterly spooked and, I think, traumatized. It was a rescued alley-cat and was bolder than mild Misu, and Misu, though able to hold her own with back-arching and tail-fattening and hissing and bouncing sideways like a creature possessed, seemed altogether put out by the notion of having to share space with another un-caged animal.
Now there is Indy, a male, neutered of course, but full of youthful vigor and full of the classic curiosity with which cats are known to delight their masters. Misu's opinion of Indy is one of high-minded disdain, but this is also mixed with resentment towards us and, towards the newcomer, a total lack of camaraderie or good humor. Indy, a kitten now nearly full-sized, has tried to romp with Misu since the day of his arrival. Misu's response has been angry hissing and rapid retreat. Misu will not eat in Indy's presence. She tolerates Indy's physical proximity if she is drowsy, but not within a perimeter that appears to be approximately four or five feet in any direction. The two of them sometimes spend minutes at a time staring at each other, crouching as if to pounce.
That's all fascinating cat-drama. What seems sort of sad, and it may have to do with Misu's aging--she's now about nine, and certainly a middle-aged lady at this point--is her apparent overall decline in both attitude and vigor. She is more droopy than she once was, and has a tendency towards being short-tempered even with her humans, to whom she had always been indulgent. She also seems more afflicted with minor physical ailments than before. And it all seems to have coincided with the arrival of Indy.
My personal belief is that the arrival of Indy was a blow to Misu's delicate spirit and that she has not recovered. I think her mental condition is depleted, I think the stress Indy unwittingly causes is somewhat debilitating, and I think it has all brought on a physical frailty rather suddenly and, to me at least, quite noticeably. It's unfortunate that Misu has not been able to cope with the presence of what she clearly sees as a fierce rival, and her attendant decline has taken me by surprise and saddened me. She hides much more frequently now, and though she was often off in her own corner of pillows before, now she is almost never to be seen at all.
Misu's decline is perhaps inevitable but most unwelcome to see. For eight years she was ruler of the cat-domain. She seems to have abdicated, or at least retired. I would like to bring back the younger, more playful Misu but that of course is impossible. In the meantime there is Indy, who is a beautiful young cat with no shortage of cat-charisma. But it isn't the same.
