I’ve recently inherited a cat. He, being Toulouse, spent the first year or so of his life with us–so he is not unknown to The Princess. He is, in fact, her kitty.When Toulouse first moved in, he was small enough to fit in your hand–and naturally thought he could easily take on this 90lb dog he found himself following around the house. He was always waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His favorite spot was behind a pile of books at the top of the stairs: a well thought-out ambush spot for the Princess as she came up the stairs. The problem, of course, being that she tended to be slightly oblivious of this ball of fur and could easily knock him down the stairs with her big ol’ labrador tail. I’m quite sure she did a time or two.
A couple of years have passed and now Toulouse is back! Addy, of course, still thinks of him as her kitty. Toulouse–for some reason unbeknownst to me–will even allow her to bathe him (although he always looks mortified while she’s licking him). I’m quite sure that he tips over his dinner bowl, allowing Addy to clean it out for him. I keep telling both of them that cat food is bad for dogs, but all I get are blank “she must hate us” stares.
In the last couple of weeks since Toulouse has moved in, I’ve seen lots of pouty Princess faces, however, she always has my back when I’m fussing at Toulouse to stop clawing the furniture or to get off the countertop. Addy is more than happy to chase after him, barking reminders at him Get off the counter! Stop clawing! Don’t make Momma yell! Come back you need a bath!
I think this is helping him learn quickly what he can/cannot do because not only am I fussing, but reenforcing this is Addy, barking and chasing him around the house. Double whammy! Poor Toulouse. Meanwhile, Addy smiles at me I got this Momma, I got this.