A goddamned terrorist.
I guess I left the door to Rupert’s room cracked a little too much last night, and apparently sometime during the wee hours, stalker ninja-cat Moon snuckded his ornery ass into Rupert’s room and took a shit so big and stinky that it could have been mistaken for a coyote turd.
Of course the “Jesus H Shiznit” look on Rupert’s face when I went in to give him his breakfast was priceless.
And I know it was Moon’s poop because when you’ve been an animal caretaker for as long as I have, you become quite an authority on poop, that and the fact that Moon doesn’t bury his because that’s his way of flipping everyone off.
Moon has actually been really nice to Rupert of late. He spends a lot of time in the room keeping Rupert company, so I’m not concerned about fighting, but he is really fixated on the room and doesn’t want to be denied access. He has three other littler boxes, but he wants his fourth one back and probably for no other reason that someone else is using it. I also got all new geriatric high-sided boxes and he might be trying to christen them all.
So … I think, starting tonight, that the door will just have to remain open. Rupert has shown interest in exploring the rest of the house, but I guess my concern is that Moon will startle him and send him back to the room for comfort when our goal is to get him out of the room. Avoiding and/or mitigating setbacks in Rupert’s progress is always a top concern. He’s doing splendid with me. I can get him engaged to the point that the both of us roll around on the floor together for hours, bellies up and all that, even with Moon in the room. However, my husband is still this huge hulking thing, so we’ve got presence issues to work through even though my gates-down door-open target is happening a little earlier than I had estimated. Nothing wrong with that either. Rupert is just progressing faster than I thought he would for such a timid creature.