Sisters. Sisters. There were never such devoted sisters.

November 16, 2007

Could it be that Hermia, in her old age (she’s almost 17 years old) is beginning to soften?

For the past two and a half years (ever since Ted and I moved in together, merged the three cats–his young rambunctious Jack and Betsy with my ancient, princess of the castle fatty Hermia) my Hermia has kept her distance from the other two, or when accosted by them she hisses and swats and growls and glares.

If she even senses Jack or Betsy are around the matted, ratty hair on her spine stands up and she darts her pretty little head (and believe me, it’s pretty little in comparison to the rest of her body) around anxiously.

But wait! Just look at the following picture(s) of Hermia (with the black fur) and Betsy (patchy brown white black orange) taken just this morning!

They look like two loving sisters, two best gal pals, sharing secrets, giggling to themselves about that doofus Jack and how he still chases his tail (when he remembers he has one)! Whispering about how Ted snores at night and Rob talks in his sleep. Making wisecracks about the decor (too much RED! Too many beanie babies!) in the bedroom. Complaining to each other about the tasteless kibble in their bowls. Lamenting the loss of their girlish figures. Brushing each other’s hair, putting it into braids, and then comforting each other through a hairball. Plotting ways in which they can take over the bed.

Has Hermia had a change of heart? Has old age taken over? Senility? Has Betsy finally broken down Hermia’s icy Grace Kelly-meets-Shelly Winters exterior?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Jack wants to know.

Well, Jack would want to know if he could remember that he’s sharing the house with two other cats. And two humans.

Uh, hullo. I’m. My nabe is. They kall me Jax,Jac, er Jack.