Big Brother

About six months ago my friend Judy called to let me know that she had a crop of kittens in her yard. Two, she said, were long-haired torties. She knew, of course, that we'd lost Maggie in January. Given that I'd had a dream the night before about a long-haired tortie, I thought I detected a sense of inevitability about this.

Six weeks ago she managed to catch one of the torties. We picked her up and moved her temporarily into Saint H's bathroom; she spent 3 days curled up in the soft-sided carrier in the bathroom sink. Saint H suggested naming her after a bathroom fixtures company in honor of her chosen resting place; we compromised on "Cola."

Marmaduke ignored her quite successfully for about four weeks - after all, she wouldn't venture out of the bathroom, so she wasn't posing a real problem. Then she started coming into the kitchen; and she progressed to the living room; now she's been all over the house except for the yarn room. (For some strange reason I shut the door ...)

He continued to ignore her for a few days. She wanted to play with him. He didn't want to share his toys. She played with them anyway. He ate her food. She ate his food. They co-existed very well, but I could tell she wanted him to capitulate.

Last night, he marched up to her and started grooming her, so I guess he's decided he'll be a good big brother after all.

When do I tell him about Cola's sister, who's waiting in the wings in Judy's basement?