Poor Booker, et.al

Long story short, we adopted a new rescue cat, who is every inch the opposite of Jake.

Ah, Jake.  Will there ever come a day when I do not say or think your name and experience heartache and tears?  [lip quivering, eyes moistening]

Jake was a fragile boy of ten years, riddled with end-stage FiV and the onset of renal failure.  He was beautiful for all of the oddest reasons, and a sloppy boy who needed constant cleaning and grooming due to the ravages of the FiV.

He was also beautiful because of the most obvious thing - he just simply was.  I think it was Jake's soul that shone through all of his ailments and physical scars, and I miss him deeply.

While Jake will never be replaced - can never be replaced - we did invite a new member into our growing tribe.  But more about this newbie in a moment.

Hobbes was our one remaining girl from the divorce/move, and bless our little fur mama, she had room in her territorial heart for Jake despite all early outward appearances.  When it came time to let Jake go in peace, it turned out that Hobbes had also come to accept (and depend upon) his presence in the house.  She did her usual mama-cat thing and wandered the house carrying a mouthful of food for him.  Calling to Jake to come eat, her calls of course went unanswered.  I can't tell you which of us was more blue, but it was clear to see we needed to find another kitty she could share her family with.

And so it was we opened our hearts and home to a rather large three year old.

Enter the newbie
Booker Sullivan is a huge youngster; healthy and playful.  From the looks of him there is a large helping of Maine Coon, but his fur gives away his mixed breeding.  Book's temperament and skittishness lead me to believe there was some cruelty in his life, for as much as he desires to be near us, he is weary of contact... unless he initiates it.  Lately he is far more social and permissive, but still on guard.  Over time I am certain he will come to trust us and forget his past and all that he knew. Until that time arrives we will follow his lead.

In the meanwhile, the approach of the New Year has some of the people in the neighborhood shooting off fireworks simply for the hell of it.  Idiots.

Booker is more than worried over those sounds, and has begun pacing and cautiously peering down halls and around corners.  Each time we move locations, we've found poor Booker trying to follow; skulking in terror around furniture and into rooms between the bangs and booms.  I hope the nearby moron currently lighting the noisy rockets will stop soon. However, I do realize there will most likely be more as midnight approaches.  Until then, Karl and I will turn up the televisions to mask the sudden bangs and hisses, and will talk to him and sit with him - if he will allow it - until the arsenals are spent.

Poor lad.  Sadder still, I know that there are also vets and dogs who are rattled by the same sorts of noises, but inconsiderate assholes are everywhere.  Does no one ever give thought to how the things they do may ill-advisedly affect others?  Even more remarkable to wonder is if they even care?