Horace meets Boris

The morning was early, earlier than yesterday, but I didn't have anywhere to be, so there was no reason to resent getting out of bed. Mama is making omelettes for breakfast, I can smell the eggs from here.

Boris and I are settling in quite happily upstairs. He has discovered that aloe is not-so fun to chew and has stopped. This morning, he helped me write a little poem and then fell asleep on the desk worn out from the effort. He does not seem to mind my reading habits, and, unless aided and encouraged by one of his siblings, doesn't have much interest in book corners for chewing. He does not much like falling asleep on my arm to be awakened by my sneezes.

It is incredible to me to see how small his is in relation to Horace and Cloud, neither of whom would win any cat pageants for slimness, mind, but Horace seems to have accepted his diet and is losing weight and Cloud is of a good, healthy size. They are both just big cats. Boris is about one third of Horace's size. I'm so accustomed to him being almost the size of his mother and Street that this is taking a bit of getting used to. Also, I forget what it means that he is only 3 and half months old. He is amazed at everything and kind of freaked out by the breeze coming through windows and doors.

I will be happy when he stops being quite so jazzed about playing with my hair at 5 in the morning, though.

The grandparents have, of course, fallen in love, and Boris goes from being adored to being scolded and chased off of counters and tabletops. Just like any small child visiting relatives, not quite managing to stay as calm as the adults have learned to be. Even my father has put aside his general dislike of felinity in all of its guises to admit that he quite likes Mr. Boris.

Horace and Boris have learned how to play. A little. A very little. Cloud is not impressed and takes every possible opportunity to let Boris know how little she wants him around. She feels that her lap time is being threatened and does not quite know what to do with small-ones. Ethel will be a bit of a shock to her, but she will survive. Cats are very good at surviving without acknowledging adaptation, I have found.

Thankfully, there were fleas here already.