Woke up this morning (about 4:30) to the sound of a cat fight. It was my “artist not a fighter” Bijou in our back yard facing off a large black cat never seen before. The scene was savage. Screaming, howling, battling, tearing into one another. I could just see from the vantage of my bedroom window, then went down for a closer look.
It was hard going all around. They seemed equal and equally unwilling either to give up or to completely dominate. But this is Bijou’s territory so mastery was his to achieve. Don’t know how my being there (I encouraged him, verbally but it didn’t seem right to completely interfere) affected the outcome. They scuffled more (Bijou came in with claw marks on his face and body and black hair in his claws) then the other cat made a slow if very willing retreat.
But it took its toll on Bijou. He was hurt. Not in any physical way that required medical attention, but somehow, perhaps in spirit, perhaps in exhaustion and he behaved differently. He lay on the carpet, contained, not giving up anything. With calling he came up on my lap and by and by he purred and seemed ok but he was not quite himself. He ate but not much and returned to his exclusive, by-myself-leave me alone posture.
So happens Jackie was under the weather. She carried him up, bodily, to the bedroom where they both spent most of the day, he purring and she delighted to have him so. I think he is ok. In fact, I believe he just went out.