Three years of Van and George

Teaming only for food

Every day, I wish they got along. Their time in a cat sanctuary room left me hopeful they would. 

But that center did not hold. They are not bonded. They probably never will be. 

Van tries to dominate George. He gets a “get the fuck out of my face” reaction every time. That’s the way it goes. If George senses a dominant move coming, he will conduct preemptive swipes and hisses. 

George and Van might nap within a few feet of each other, but there’s no cuddling. They just aren’t those cats. That’s fine. They don’t have to bond. Mostly they tolerate each other. The fights are superficial, not the death bouts that would force a tough decision from me. 

Always initiated by Van, fights end quickly. George seeks the high ground, whether a cat tower or coffee table, then starts swiping fiercely. 

 We have had a mostly smooth experience, which might be why I write about them less than the fiery Mister Percy. 

After 16 years of Percy aggression, I used my place at the cat rescue, I waited for cats with pleasant personalities. I struck gold. Not that they get every advantage of Percy. Nobody goes outside. They can watch birds, squirrels, rabbits, and mule deer from the cat towers in every window. I wonder if Percy’s end was not hastened by his outdoor adventures. During summer in Colorado, Percy could spend 20 hours outside. I can’t chance that with these boys. 

Working remote presents another problem. They get too accustomed to my presence. Half the time, I go to Denver for work to take a break from them. They will make separate demands during the work day that take away my concentration, even when deadlines loom. Deadlines mean nothing to cats; full food dishes mean everything, even if they don’t have more than a lick or two. 

Closeness confuses them

Both were surrendered for different reasons. Van didn’t get along with the new kittens his previous owners brought into the house. No one ever surrenders the kittens. George was more complicated, as the balance of a three-cat household was upset and he had to leave. Despite the lack of bonding, they do alright. They won’t ever get surrendered unless I get a fatal diagnosis or keel over. If the weather turns too hot, they will resort to sleep on the tile. 

But mostly they stick with me. At night, they burrow next to me. We all sleep until they demand food. That’s the price of cat ownership. They don’t always get what they want, depending on how much I want to sleep. But they get enough. In winter, I can hardly step into the cold morning knowing those two little space heaters have warded off the coldest part of night. 

 If I nap in the afternoon, they gravitate to the bed. It’s become a communal thing. I won’t deny it’s nice to have them join. Van swats at me if I dare to nap on the couch. But it’s more that he doesn’t want me going it alone. George has different priorities. He insists on an arm at night or for a nap. I have to extend my left arm and he will flop down. Sometimes a bent knee will do. He will rest behind my bent legs. But George likes his nap spot with an angle. 

WIth these two, I won't get the 15-plus years I got with Percy. I adopted older cats. George turned 10 in March, Van hit seven in April. We might have fewer days ahead than if I adopted kittens. We likely have fewer days ahead than we’ve already had. In the meantime, we’re going to have good days, full of toys and treats. 

Yet I see these sweet boys that never take a violent step toward me. As someone sharper than me once said, and that has made all the difference.

Goofball Van.