Our cats hate each other. Or, I should say, the older cat hates the younger cat and the younger cat loves to antagonize him. It's been this way ever since we betrayed him by adopting her, and he takes great pains to tell us that we're still on his shit list.
Once the bun was born, I think that it's safe to say that both cats felt the sting of betrayal. They became cranky older siblings pushed out of the way to make room for the grub-like pink ape, and they've both dealt with it in different ways, though neither gracefully.
And I understand. We've been slightly distracted since the bun showed up, and we've been negligent in our affections. The cats have wanted more attention than we've been able to give.
Change is in the air.
A fundamental paradigmatic shift is afoot, and they can sense the tectonic plates groan underneath them. Yesterday, I was doing laundry in the basement when I came upon what looks distinctly like a war room, with charts and diagrams and maps. There were hot spots of engagement highlighted in red, and neutral zones dotted in green. Special bunkers were listed according to impenetrability.
I suspect that after the bun chased the female cat around the coffee table in earnest for the first time yesterday, the cats realized that the only path to survival was to create a united front of distraction, feints, and contingency plans in order to maneuver successfully through the house unmolested. The maxim "The enemy of my enemy is my friend" might just prove to be meaningful for the two old arch rivals.
They are about to have so much attention they're not going to know what to do with it.
Here, kitty kitty kitty!