"Trump Tower," my friend dubbed my four-story cat condo when she saw it.
Perhaps, I thought, it does look a bit ostentatious. Its residents, however, enjoy the luxury of cat resort living. At least someone in the household can wallow in the penthouse life.
In reality, Ginger and Willow don't visit the top floor all that often. They prefer, instead, the third level, where they cuddle together on a comfy, warm bed. Never mind that each one has her own bed; they choose to share. I often find them napping together in the afternoon. In typical feline manner, they explore the remainder of the condo, particularly its scratching posts, in their noctural journeys when I am trying to sleep.
Today, however, I noticed Ginger and Willow solidly entrenched in the penthouse. Instead of fully napping, they looked about the room with half-open eyes as if on alert. Their expressions showed a cross between disdain and apprehension. The reason? They have discovered that the world does not necessarily revolve around them. They have sensed that someone has infringed on what they perceive as their territory.
Indeed, someone has. Kona, mostly miniature poodle with a hint of Bichon, has joined the family.
Ginger and Willow have yet to decide if they should deign to fully acknowledge this young man, though he has done little except look adorable and bounce around the backyard like Tigger since he arrived last Friday night. Thus far, he has shown as much caution as they have, and no one has resorted to attack mode. They have figured out that they have to share "Good morning!" hugs, and they have dutifully ignored each other's food.
The girls, however, have decided to enjoy the view from the top, at least for the present.
