S. and Rosie made it back home today and the house rejoiced. Well, I rejoiced. I think S. rejoiced. And I'm pretty sure Rosie rejoiced (although she's just a generally happy and excited animal - it doesn't take much for rejoicing to happen). The cats? Not so much. Tiger, our young adult cat, seemed to take the reappearance of the bouncy bundle of energy that is a Yorkie puppy in stride. Ocey, our adolescent cat, appeared a bit nonplussed at having to share the floor with a dog again. I think she was under the impression that the apartment had been rezoned for cat-occupancy-only over the past few days. I could be anthropomorphizing but I always interpret atypical behavior on the part of the cats as an indiciation of a general sense of unease. Tonight, as I was watching TV, Tiger crawled into my lap to sleep (which is not too big a deal) and then Ocey crawled onto my chest to sleep (which is not too big a deal). What is a big deal is that neither one of them bothered the other, usually one will leave.
Two things I never thought I would be are a cat owner and a small dog owner (although, in all fairness, Rosie is S.' dog) and yet, today, I find myself living with 2 cats and a Yorkshire terrier. It's two and a half cats if you count the stray who lives in our backyard and who we leave food out for - she doesn't really have a name, we just call her Mama Cat. There's a long story back of that, but S.' entry from August 4th of last year covers it quite well. While I never imagined living with three animals, I wouldn't change a thing. Each of them has managed to worm their way into my heart.
Dogs and cats... Living together... I wouldn't have it any other way.
