MasterB and I were in the garden when Sophie Scott arrived. There had been An Altercation, and I was observing feline politics, ready to wade in if the Ginger Ninja looked like he was getting into trouble.
The new ginger and white had come the heavy on Sonny, and I had intervened. Sonny is our resident feral, and I’m not going to stand by and watch some bully-come-lately push him out. MasterB got quite excited, and seemed to think that if I could get involved, then so could he. My involvement stopped at chasing the bully away from Sonny. I did not attempt to follow him under my car and hiss at him.
The bully disdained a mere hiss and let rip one of those I’m-going-to-tear-your-head-off yowls that Cat used to specialise in. Much to my surprise, MasterB answered in kind. His tail swelled to alarming proportions and a huge ridge of fur rose up along his back. Just as in Cat’s day, the words “Vet Bills” rose before my eyes, and I scooped up my boy before any further exchange of menaces could result in flying fur. Academically, I should quite like to know how he would be in a fight. In reality, I want him to keep his claws clean.
There was no way he was going to come tamely indoors, so I stayed outside. By the time Sophie arrived, all was calm, and he was once more master of the demesne.
He ran to meet her. He submitted to being picked up, cuddled and admired. He washed her hand thoroughly, purred his head off at her, played with the string she dangled for him, and scrutinised her boots with in-depth sniffing. He didn’t want to stay in for long though, so for most of the evening he was out and about.
I intended to see Sophie safely onto the bus. MasterB seemed to think he might come too. So we said goodbye in a side street and I led my boy back to safety.