Not Quite Love at First Sight, but Perhaps Fate

Despite the Cowboy and the three cats, I still maintain that my German shepherd, Tess, is my longest, most successful relationship to date.  She is the love of my life, second only to the lovable, blue-point Himalayan I had as a teenager.  Tess might have her flaws - the bad breath, her aggression towards male dogs, her rampant infidelity - but I still very biasedly believe her to be the best dog ever to walk the Earth.

I actually found Tess on petfinder.com.  I had just purchased my house and was beginning what I thought the long quest to find the perfect dog, now that I had a backyard to keep her in.  In the past, as with all burn out crushes, I'd always rushed in, seduced by a pair of big brown eyes and floppy ears and wet nose.  I love animals and I love pets.  My dogs in the past were shelter mutts, lovable in their own way, but secretly what I really have always wanted is a female German shepherd.  They have always been my favorite breed.  The closest I ever came to having what I wanted was the shepherd/collie mix that my mother and I rescued from the animal shelter when I was seventeen.  He happened to be a male, and he was a great dog, but he was my mother's dog.

My other favorite breed is the Papillion, another dog I hope one day to own, but they seem to be a bit harder to come by.

Having just bought a house, I was ready to start looking for a dog, but not quite ready yet to rush to the shelter and grab the first homeless pity case I ran across.  This time I was determined to look, research, and get exactly what I wanted.  I had just broken up with my ex-boyfriend and I wanted the perfect dog to make up for the subpar, not-so-perfect ex-boyfriend.

I found Tess the second day I searched petfinder.com  She was listed at the Casper Humane Society as a one-year-old female purebred German shepherd.  I was going out of town in a week for a doctor's appointment, I was absolutely not prepared to bring a dog home yet, let alone one two hours away that I couldn't even go visit, but I called the Casper Humane Society to inquire about the dog.  They told me that someone had already called interested in her and they were fairly certain they wanted to adopt her.  They had her spaying surgery scheduled and when that was done she would be ready to go home with her new family.  They said they could put my name on the list - I would be number 2 - just in case this family decided not to adopt her.

"But," the shelter employee assured me, "They aren't going to change their minds.  They are definitely going to take her."

"Okay," I said.  "That's no problem.  I just wanted to call and see about her."

"Do you still want us to call you in case the adoption falls through?"

"Yeah, sure.  Give me a call if something changes."

"Okay, we have your name on the list.  But nothing will change."

"Thank you."

The next afternoon there was a voicemail from the Casper Humane Society on my phone telling me that if I was still interested in the German shepherd, the adoption had fallen through and I was the second name on the list.  Of course I called them and made an appointment to drive down that Saturday and check her out.  I still wasn't sure at that point if it was a good idea to bring a dog home so soon - I had planned on spending several months finding the perfect dog - but I thought I should at least go check this dog out.  The fact that her "guaranteed adoption" fell through worried me, but how much trouble could a dog be?

I drove down that Saturday to check her out.  She was a Tazmanian devil in her kennel, up on her hind legs, barking in a high-pitched, spoiled, crazy bark.  She was a little sable, smaller than I expected, and just beautiful.  Her conformation was perfect and she had the big brown eyes and small pointed muzzle that always makes me fall for a dog. I wanted to see her out of her kennel so the shelter employee (who was not bad looking himself) put a leash on her so we could take her into a different room.

Talk about not leash-trained!  She jumped up on the employee, twirled around on the lead like a dancer, got herself all tangled up and nearly tripped and fell flat on her face.  She bounded ahead and got pulled up short by the lead, choking herself.  Then she tried to bound back to the employee to give herself slack only to run into his legs.  They both nearly went down.

In the separate room, she raced in circles and sniffed everything.  The shelter employee wasted no time.  "So you want her?"

I asked why the first adoption had fallen through and why she was surrendered in the first place.  Apparently the family who had originally bought her as a puppy from a breeder had surrendered her to the shelter because she was too active and dug in the yard.  They had made a deal with their neighbors to take her off their hands but the neighbors were on vacation and the family just couldn't keep her anymore.  Then when the neighbors returned from their vacation, they came to the shelter to adopt her.  They decided they didn't want her when they found out she was scheduled to be spayed before they could take her home.  They'd wanted to breed her and of course the Human Society does not allow adoptions for breeding.

Against my better judgment - the trip I had scheduled just a day after I brought Tess home, her extremely high energy, and absolutely zero training - I agreed to the adoption.  For the first four months I wanted to kill her.  Now I can't picture my life without her.  She has come a long way from the day in the shelter with no leash skills, bad manners, and an alleged accusation of digging in the yard.  Incidentally the only hole she ever dug in my yard was to bury a very large bone I'd bought her.  Tess has stuck by me through four different boyfriends and five cats (three of which are still living, of course).  The Cowboy has endured partially because he makes an effort with Tess and she loves him and has welcomed him in her pack.

Tess and I were fated to be together.  As for love at first sight, well she reserved that for the Cowboy, but she's still all mine.

Cat vs. Tomato Plant

I have learned my  lesson.  Plants and pets obviously don't mix in my house.  Let's face it.  I do not possess the greenest of thumbs to begin with but the Cowboy and I had managed to grow a few things last summer and I decided to try again this year, if for no other reason then I absolutely adore fresh grown tomato soup.

This year I started my tomato plants early.  I also planted some oregano and I started some peas outside.  The peas, unlike the pets, are the least high maintenance.  A little water, a screen to keep the dog out, and they are good to go.  The oregano has found a happy spot on top of my dresser, the one piece of furniture the cats have not figured out how to jump onto yet.  The tomatoes started as tiny little seeds in a starter kit and I kept them on the refrigerator for the first two weeks, adequately watered and shrouded in a plastic bag.  The cats never went near them.

Of course it was too good to be true.  After all, Percy has been deemed the biggest feline jerk this side of the Rocky Mountains, and considering we live right at the foothills, that's a pretty big area for him to cover.  Don't get me wrong, I love my Percy, but one must face facts and that is that my dear sweet little black ball of lovable fur is actually a great big jackass.  He will poop right during my lunch and make sure it is as smelly as possible.  He chases and terrorizes Willow.  He knocks stuff off the bathroom counter.  He is constantly dancing around my night table, trying to get at my glasses (my glasses are the most interesting toy, I believe).  He waits until I am just about to drift off for a nap and then starts yowling at high pitch and streaking through the house, sounding like a herd of elephants.  It has always amazed me that a twelve-pound cat can make the sound of a stampeding buffalo herd.  He makes the whole house shake.  So adorable fluffball aside, he is actually quite facetious.

The other day I decided it was time to put the tomato plants in sunlight so they can grow.  They had just sprouted.  I had tiny little greenies and I was pretty excited.  So I set them up by my top level window, barricaded with catproof barriers.  I should have known better.  Where there is a will, Percy will find a way.  And he did.  I came home at lunch and he had managed to move the barriers aside and eaten half of the tiny green sprouts.  I'm sure Willow got up there and helped him, but the main culprit is Percy.  He is obsessed with green stuff and I have had to keep all houseplants as far away from him as possible.  Out of twenty plants I managed to salvage nine.  Nine isn't too bad, considering the Cowboy told me that four plants would be plenty to bear the fruit we'd need.  I had planned, however, on giving away the others.  I'm just lucky Percy hadn't been hungry enough to eat all of them and then walk through the dirt and track it around the house.  I am sure that would have come next had I not removed the plants.  I spent the afternoon transplanting each mangled little plant into its own container and then set the containers up in a radio flyer wagon the Cowboy brought over.  The plants are still too small to sit outside at night so I brought the wagon inside and draped it with towels.

Now most cats do not like surfaces that are not stable enough to stand on.  A radio flyer wagon with small pots inside draped with towels does not make a solid surface on which to stand.  This, however, did not deter my cats.  Even Puckett got in on the action and that is rare for her.  She was the first to stalk over, place her front paws on the edge of the wagon, sniff, and then jump up.  She looked genuinely surprised that the surface was not solid and even more surprised when I hollered at her to get down.  She spent the rest of the evening sulking on her box, face mashed in the wall.  Next came Percy.  He and Willow were content to sit underneath the wagon for awhile.  I was reading.  Just as I started to drift off for a short nap, sure enough, Percy jumped onto the towels himself, woke me up, and freaked out because the surface wasn't quite as sturdy as he thought it should be.  In Willow's defense, she only jumped into the wagon because she was too busy chasing a bug.  As usual my little airhead didn't seem to realize that the other two cats got reprimanded for jumping in, so she was going to get it too.

I gave up and took off the towels, replacing them with a big crinkly black garbage bag that I arranged so that it didn't even look remotely like a solid surface.  This didn't deter Percy who started poking around underneath the bag, trying to get in that way.  I am sure once he found his way inside the bag and the wagon he would have panicked and had a heck of a time getting himself back out.  Puckett, after she stopped sulking, came upstairs and poked around as well, even trying once again to jump onto the bag just to see if there was any way she could turn this addition to the household into her new throne.

And as for Tess, she came inside, sniffed the wagon once, wagged her tail against the bag, causing it to rustle (and further exciting the cats) and proceeded to trot to the food bowl to see if anything new had materialized.

I have to say, I love that dog.  Sometimes I swear she reads minds.

This morning, it was already sixty degrees.  Dog, radio flyer wagon complete with ailing tomato plants, and the pot of sprouting oregano went outside to bask in the sunshine.  I left the backdoor open for the cats to enjoy the spring air as well.  With any luck the weather will hold now so that I can leave those plants outside and not have to bring them in anymore.  I honestly don't think I can handle another night of cats vs. tomato plant drama.  The last thing Percy had to say about the whole thing was the huge pile of nasty he left me in the litter box.  Worse than usual, I might add.  It turns out tomato plants are actually toxic to cats.  Considering these were seedlings and barely sprouted and he hadn't really gotten to too many of them, I didn't anticipate him getting too seriously sick.  But he did let me know what his final thoughts were.

When it comes to plants I suppose Tess is my "good child."  I may be eating my words this afternoon when I go home and find my porch strewn with tiny greenies and doggie tracks of dirt.

My Pets Think I Control the Weather

Puckett appears to have gotten over her nasty mood of the last few weeks.  This week has become "LOVE ME" week and she will stop at nothing to get her way.  I'm beginning to think the animals just naturally assume I am in charge of the weather.  When the weather is bad, they all act like I have committed some mortal sin and set out to teach  me a lesson by destroying the house and annoying each other.  When the weather is good they flock around me all purrs and mushy looks as if I am to be rewarded for giving them a sunshiney day.

They aren't even outdoor pets, save for the dog.

I know when Puckett absolutely  has had it with everyone and everything, me and the weather included, but the other day she took it to a higher level than I've ever witnessed.  I walked into the kitchen to find her sitting on top of the box in the corner that has been her throne for quite some time, facing the wall.  Not only was she facing the wall, however, she had her face smashed into it, the forehead wedged tightly against the white solidness, eyes shut, ears back.  Her bulk balanced precariously on the box that I have had to set upright in order to keep her from scratching the wooden railings behind it.  It didn't look comfortable at all.  Balancing on a surface that barely contains one's mass is awkward enough, but to ram one's face into the wall for good measure, now to me that just seemed like she was trying to make me feel guilty for something.  I asked her what was wrong.  She turned her head to look at me for a moment, eyes narrowed, then mashed her face back into the wall and resumed the position.

The last couple of days - which have been sunny and in the sixties - my sweet girl has magically returned.  I have awakened each morning to twenty pounds of love jumping onto the bed, purring and rubbing happily against me and the Cowboy.  When we get up, Puckett remains on the bed.  That's when the fun begins.  Usually this is Percy's trick, but for some reason Puckett has decided this week that she needs to hinder the bedmaking routine.  So I snap the sheet in the air and let it settle over bed and cat.  Puckett slips out from under the sheet and settles on top of it, purring.  I straighten and smooth the sheet, then drop the blanket on top of the bed.  There is now a cat shaped lump in the middle of the blanket.  Puckett immediately wriggles out and then follows me from side to corner to side of the bed as I pull the blanket smooth and tuck it in.  She chirps as she does this, like she's chasing a bird or an insect or something.  Finally I drop the comforter on top of her.  She shakes it off, eases on top of it, and finally settles down and licks a paw.  As I finish arranging the comforter nicely, she curls up and goes to sleep.  And there she remains until I get home at five o'clock, and I am quite certain she never moves from that spot.

It's doubly nice for her if I leave the backdoor open and let the air into the bedroom.  Tess sits on the porch outside the door, basking in the sunshine, and Puckett sleeps on the bed.  Even though they are not in the room together, they appear to enjoy the lovely day as one, bringing further evidence that these two just might be soul sisters.

Spring Fever

My animals have absolutely had it with the endless snow and winter wonderland and I have absolutely had it with their lack of tolerance for the crappy weather. It has been a long, miserable winter with three days snowstorms, grey cloudy days, subzero temperatures, a high-energy German shepherd cooped up for hours indoors, and three unimpressed cats sleeping beside the heater, paws covering their faces.

We've had several teasers. The weather would bloom sunny and gorgeous only to plunge headfirst back into a wasteland of snow, wet, and cold. Twice now these teasers have sent the cats into performing their own personal three-ring circus and encouraging the dog to forget her good manners when walking on a leash and try to drag me into oncoming traffic, to say nothing of practically plowing over me on the stairs.

I believe we have finally hit the beginning of spring after this last particular nasty bit of business where the snow fell so wet and heavy, it slid off my car in one big white sheet and froze the roads over, closing I90 from here to Buffalo and from here to the Montana state line. Once again this means my animals are assuming spring has begun and it is time to do the “Spring is Here” happy dance and drive their mistress crazy.

Each one has his or her own way of celebrating. Percy is the most entertaining, and he is the ringleader of this three-ring circus, as well as the acrobat, the trapeze artist, and the “trained big cat.” I guess that makes me the lion tamer and I am doing a bang up job with it, let me tell you. To give an example, a few weeks ago, I was in the bathroom with the door open. Tess was lying right in the doorway, her head and front paws draped mournfully over the edge of the linoleum, eyes gazing at me as though to ask me if we were ever going to do anything fun again. A moment later this small black shape launched itself over the dog, all four legs extended out front, tail stretched out behind. He landed with a thump, galloped into the bedroom with the sound of a stampeding buffalo, and stopped short by the backdoor and yowled. Tess' head shot up and she looked around, eyes wide and startled, before she got to her feet and slunk downstairs to the kitchen.

Every evening Percy tears through the house, up and down the stairs, yowling and caterwauling like the devil himself. Then he'll slip into his litterbox, do his business (speaking of a nasty bit of business), scratches forever, and then jumps back and out and continues to race through the house yowling.

I took him to the vet to see if there was anything wrong with his delicate tummy.

There wasn't.

Puckett has her own methods. She has been on perpetual PMS which is no small feat for a cat with no uterus who is generally a sweet unobtrusive creature. Puckett has been scratching everything and anything that gets in her way, leaving deep claw grooves in the wood of my railings, and has even started scratching the couch. To remedy this the Cowboy fashioned rough wooden braces over the edges of the couch so she can at least scratch something harmless, and wrapped protective foam around the railings after smoothing the wood down with wax. And what does Puckett do in response? She scratched around the coverings and threw me a saucy look as if to let me know that she would scratch whenever and wherever she chose and there was nothing I could do about it.  I swatted her hiney for that one. It was barely a tap, not even with the same strength used for a vigorous patting and cuddling.

You would have thought I had beat her like a redheaded stepchild with the look she shot me. Her large green eyes were wide and filled with such searing indignation as she glared at me and wrapped her tail around her body. Then she turned her back to me, whipped her tail into the air and flounced off, ears slicked back against her head.

Since then the precious darling has been one hell of a moody little bitch. If I pet her she attacks me with her paws, even using her claws to leave welts in my skin. She gives me snotty looks, chirps at me demandingly when its feeding time, and turns her butt to me more times then her face so that I'm starting to wonder whether she's coming or going.

Willow has reverted to her usual pissy tricks, and when I say pissy, I mean pissy. She left me a present on the floor next to the litterbox again and scratches the carpeting on the stairs with wild abandon. When I snap my fingers at her she runs away and then looks at me with this vacant stare like she can't figure out what I'm so upset about. She has developed a new intimacy with her cage for her little missing the litterbox trick. And she teases Percy incessantly. Usually he's the one to pick on her but lately if she is feeling ignored she will roll on the floor enticingly and run after him, pawing at his tail and trying to get him to chase her. Then he does and she trips over nothing, rolls across the floor, and lands on her back, waving her paws in Percy's face. Percy had enough the other night and trounced her pretty good. She responded by hiding under the desk. When he gave up and wandered off to amuse himself with catnip, she darted out and followed him. Another time Percy chased her across the living room and she tried to jump on the desk. She missed and fell back, landing with an ungraceful thud on the carpet. She immediately began to wash.

So did Percy.

She uses the same trick on the dog. If Tess has the audacity to walk by her, Willow shrieks and throws a fit, waving her little claws at Tess all threateningly. Tess just looks at her sideways and moves away, ears back, with a look of confusion. As she walks away Willow will sniff her hindquarters and swipe at her tail.  Oh, the drama.

Tonight I thought maybe the gang had settled down a bit. I was in my bedroom, reading, and gathered around the bed from the side to the foot were all four animals, coexisting peacefully. Tess lay protectively by the side of the bed. Percy stared out the backdoor. Willow was under the corner of the bed and Puckett was curled up between Tess' front paws.

It only took Percy to decide that everyone was being way too good. He attacked Willow who streaked from the room. Tess got up, seemingly annoyed with Puckett's overbearing attention, and left the room as well. A moment later Puckett ran after her. I heard a crash as Willow jumped into her cage and Percy tried to follow. I gave up and got up as well. Percy abandoned Willow and enticed the dog into wrestling with him. Puckett ran to her food bowl and demanded dinner. I started vacuuming and Tess galloped through the house in excitement.  Percy jumped up on the railing and slipped into his tightrope walking routine before he tried to attack Puckett. Chaos ensued.

Well, spring's off to a great start. How long until summer?

Maybe It's Not Just the Pets Who Are Codependent...

This morning I awoke at 6:30 a.m. to find the bed quite crowded.  Fortunately for me, the crowdedness was all on the Cowboy's side of the bed.  Puckett (all twenty pounds of bulk) was spread out on his chest and it was actually her extremely loud purring that woke me up.  Willow was curled between the Cowboy's legs and Percy was at the end of the bed.  This was actually rather unusual.  Sometimes we will wake up to Willow on the bed.  Percy usually only joins us after we wake up, launching himself gracefully with finesse onto the bed and trilling his trademark rolling meow.  Puckett is almost never on the bed with us.  She will wait until everyone has cleared off the bed and then stake it out for herself.  I'm sure even Tess would have joined us if she'd been allowed, but alas, poor Tess remained on the floor as she is too big to share a full sized bed with two humans and three cats.

As soon as I woke up and saw Puckett, I tapped my chest and invited her over to my side of the bed and she immediately slid over to me and snuggled in, purring up a storm and rubbing her nose against my hand which is how she demands attention.  The other two cats remained put, but everyone was purring at this point.  Of course I had to gloat that Puckett still chose me when given the option.  This was to get back at the Cowboy for trying to manipulate her to the dark side the other day when he had a pet and cuddle session with her on the stairs before he left for work.

The tranquility didn't last long as Tess needed to go out so the Cowboy got up to let her out and feed the cats.  All three cats jumped from the bed and barreled downstairs for their breakfast.  I wasn't quite ready to get up yet, and several minutes later when I rolled over and peered at the side of the bed there was a pair of ears and two eyeballs staring at me from the floor.  I patted the bed and Puckett jumped up to resume our snuggling.  When I finally got up to take a shower she remained on the bed and waited for me to come back.  She stayed on the bed even as I tried to make it and then followed me from the bedroom back to the bathroom (where she rubbed against the corner of the doorway and watched me) and finally to the kitchen.

Sorry, Cowboy, I guess I'm still winning this war for Puckett's heart.  While it is true that the other two cats had breakfast with the Cowboy and then watched some morning TV with him in the TV room, my girl still remains loyal and faithful to me.  That's a good feeling.

Mama's Girl

I have put my foot down with the Cowboy and insisted that Puckett remain "my" baby as opposed to the other three animals who act like complete idiots whenever he is around.  Puckett is "my" girl, "my" cat, "my" princess, and I told the Cowboy that he is not permitted in any way, shape, or form to spoil her or cajole her into favoring him over me as he has managed to do with the rest of my pets.

Don't get me wrong.  My pets still think I'm God when it's just the five of us and, of course, I still feed them and pick up their poop.  But Puckett is the only one of the four who has remained steadfastly "my" girl and while she is civil and accepting of the Cowboy, she still prefers me over him.

I cannot say the same for the overindulged, spoiled, infidelitous creatures that are my other two cats and my German shepherd, Tess.  The ungrateful little parasites.  For the last five years I have poured my heart and soul into caring for these clingy and needy pets and the minute some good looking hunk enters our lives they leave me in the trail dust of their stampeding paws, each bowling the others over in their rush to get to him.  I have always abhorred people who dump their pets and/or friends the minute they find themselves in a relationship (always stating that my pets have been with me longer than any man), but what does one do when one's loyal, darling pets dump her for the new boyfriend?  Tess has gone so far as to try shouldering me aside in her rush to race up the stairs in pursuit of the Cowboy.  To reinforce my unpopularity I had to discipline her for that little move. In the past she wouldn't have dreamed of pulling a stunt like that.  Percy has given me up as hopeless and now will sit in the kitchen, gazing at the Cowboy with great big green mushy eyes, purring and meowing invitations to play (which, of the course, the Cowboy enthusiastically indulges).  I'm good enough to bother in the bathroom for a brief few minutes, but then it is back to being glued to the Cowboy's side.  Willow will find any excuse to jump into the Cowboy's lap and settle herself smugly and comfortably, rumbling away as though she hasn't a care in the world.  Me she just looks at with scorn (probably because she still hasn't forgiven me for keeping her locked up at night to prevent her from peeing next to the litter box rather than in it).

It is official.  I am "mean mommy" and the Cowboy is the "fun one."  

Puckett, however, still loves me.  She has been aloof since the Cowboy has joined our lives, friendly and civil, but keeping herself distant.  She enjoys sleeping on his jacket when he leaves it at the door and she has staked out a box of Christmas ornaments he left at my house as her favorite bed.  Here is where she has spent most of her time until recently.  She will play with a dignified air at times when the other two cats are making complete asses of themselves, haughtily batting at a ball or pawing at the plastic wand toy dangled enticingly in her face, but she is never too excitable.  She is one of those cats who does not want you to think that she is enjoying herself too much just to please you.  When the Cowboy pulls out the laser - that infernal red dot that seems to drive all cats crazy - Percy and Willow will go bananas chasing the dot all over the floor and even up the wall to the point where they will chase their tails in circles in an effort to catch it.  Puckett stares at it with interest but would never deign to lower herself in such a manner as to chase something so silly, as if she knows it cannot be caught and she refuses to demean herself in such a way.  She plays, but she does not go overboard in "bonding time" with the Cowboy.  If he is lucky she will give his leg a brief rub on her way to the food bowl.

Last night she was sitting on the arm of the couch next to the Cowboy while we watched TV.  She has not sat on the couch in months, has not graced us with her presence in the TV room in months as the other animals have, sacked out snoring or playing with the various toys.  Last night however she wanted some "Puckett Time" with her humans.  The Cowboy encouraged her to come sit on his lap and I gave him a look and told him "Oh, no you don't.  That is MY Puckett and you are not going to turn her over to the Dark Side!"

I needn't have worried.  She accepted his invitation to ease her twenty pound bulk into his lap only to slide on over to me and settle herself on me instead.  After that nothing would move her from lap without claws clamping down to keep her stationed.  She allowed the Cowboy to scratch behind her ears, but it was my lap she wanted to snuggle on.

This morning she once again joined me on the couch and shared some breakfast and Spongebob Squarepants before I went to work, lounging gracefully on the seat beside me, gazing up at me with her large, unblinking, adoring eyes as if to say "Don't worry, Mom.  I'm still all yours."

The Drama Queen

My "youngest" child, Willow, is, what I like to call, special needs.  I honestly have no idea what goes through her head sometimes.  She is ridiculously adorable (once again, I fell for the big wide eyes and smushed wet nose) and tiny, and she gives one the feeling of wanting to protect her.  She has that damsel in distress thing down.  Willow has lived with me for a year now and still is not used to the dog.  My personal opinion is that she IS used to the dog.  She just wants everyone to think she isn't.  I have three animals who live in harmony together.  Percy and Puckett have figured out kitty hierarchy (Puckett is the queen).  Percy and Tess are the best of friends and love to wrestle and play.  Puckett and Tess have some kind of weird interspecies love affair going on as Puckett will spend an hour every evening rubbing on Tess and purring while Tess licks her ears.  Sometimes they dance together in the kitchen.  Puckett sort of "herds" Tess around the kitchen purring and Tess will allow herself to be "herded."

I have not yet figured out where Willow fits in.  Everyone tolerates her about fifty percent of the time and I can't help but notice that her black sheep status is partially her own fault.  The rest of the fault lies with Percy because he is a bully and picks on her, but Willow makes no effort to try and make friends with anyone unless it is on her terms.  As lowest on the totem pole, she really doesn't have this luxury.  Tess has tried over and over to befriend the little spitfire only to be shot down.  In the beginning she would try to sniff and lick Willow the way she does Puckett and received a slap across the nose for her efforts.  If Willow is lounging on the bed with me, Tess can't even approach the side of the bed to get her ears scratched without Miss Thang rumbling in her throat and swatting out with her paw.  Tess will be minding her own business completely and the next thing she knows she has six pounds of furious kitty launching herself at her.  Tess had finally had enough one night and chased Willow upstairs terrifying the poor cat to the point of peeing on the floor.  I really couldn't blame Tess.  She has never once given any indication of wanting to hurt Willow and she has tried many times to be friends.  Puckett treats Willow with the same haughty, "I'm better than you" attitude with which she treats the rest of us.  In the morning if the two happen to meet en route to the food bowls, they will sniff each other all over and then Puckett will "wave" her away with a swish of her tail and a flick of the ears.  Willow jumps sideways and darts away like she's been electrocuted.  Puckett has never hurt her, has never bullied her, and has never picked on her and Willow still acts as though Puckett is about to jump down her throat every time they meet. 

Percy is probably the main culprit in Willow's attitude, though in the beginning the two were friends.  Percy was enraptured with Willow when i first brought her home and followed her everywhere, trying to engage her.  She rebuffed his advances over and over and as soon as he wandered away and left her alone she jumped after him, ears up, whiskers twitching, and would tap him lightly with a paw, trying to regain his attention.  "Wait! I didn't REALLY want you to leave me alone!  My leave me alone antics don't actually mean 'leave me alone!'"  As any male trying to figure out a contrary female, poor Percy was confused beyond belief.  Eventually he started picking on her every time she attempted to use the litter box which led to litter box aversion and finally led to a crate for Willow.  The crate is Willow's hidey hole and safe haven and has fixed the litter box aversion to the point where she can be out of the cage all day without peeing on the floor.  She still spends nights in the cage.  Percy no longer bullies her but she has taken to teasing him when she is out of her cage.  Once again she pulls her trick of getting annoyed when he tries to play with her or engage her and then racing after him when he ignores her.  Sometimes she'll fly through the house at top speed and Percy can't help but chase her.  Tess tries really hard to keep from chasing her as well, but as a dog, she sometimes can't help it.  If Willow acted less like a prey animal she would be treated less like a prey animal.  She engages in this behavior constantly and then wails and cries and throws a serious hissy fit when the other animals react.

Through all this Puckett sits in her spot and watches everyone balefully with a look of total disgust and annoyance.

Three days ago I had to take Percy and Puckett to the vet.  I put Tess outside, drove my cats to the vet, and came home to let Willow out of her cage.  She jumped out of the cage and went on the usual rounds.  First the bedroom, then down to the kitchen to check the food bowl situation, and finally downstairs where the scratching post and kitty tower are located.  Then she was back upstairs again, looking lost, poking here and there.  It finally dawned on me that she was looking for the other two.  She was finally in a house all by herself with no other animals which is a situation I thought might be more beneficial for her and she was completely out of her element.  She had no idea what had become of her companions and she continued to look for them until I left for work.  Later that day when I brought home Percy and Puckett Willow went back to jumping sideways when they wandered near her, hissing at the dog, and streaking through the house at warp speed, trying to entice everyone to chase her. 

Clearly, everything was back as it should be.