They were born five days apart, in February of 2017. Telemann, the cat, came into the world in a Philadelphia alley. He was rescued soon after with his mother and littermates and brought to Vermont. Truffle was born in an Ohio puppy mill and “worked” there as a stud, living in a cage until his rescue almost eight years later. Now they live, mostly peacefully, in my house.
Telemann was the kitten from hell. I should have known when he tried to wrench the pen out of my hand as I signed his adoption papers. As soon as he arrived he set about wreaking havoc on our household. He flew around the cottage, eating everything in and out of sight, opening kitchen cabinets, perching atop an eight-foot bookcase. When we had guests, he would dive into their handbags and pull stuff out. In a single week he shredded the arm rests of a leather recliner and broke two lamps. If we had had a chandelier, he would have swung from it. And he did it all while remaining supremely charming, with his gray velvet coat, white paws, and purrs.
Truffle’s arrival and adjustment, as I have described in earlier posts, could not have been more different. He was afraid of everything and everybody, and when he wasn’t eating or whirling frantically he was pretty much inert. But from the beginning, probably because Telemann didn’t quite perceive Truffle as a live animal, they would lie peacefully side by side on the bed in my study while I sat at the computer.
Over many months, however, Truffle started coming out of his shell. He became more dog-like, carrying his tail high and showing excitement before meals or upon my arrival. That was when the dustups with Telemann began. By “dustups” I mean lightning fast interactions that look for all the world like fights, except that they never last more than a couple of seconds and neither the dog nor the cat has ever been injured. (Given Truffle’s toothlessness, Telemann is pretty safe, but not so Truffle, since the cat is fully armed.)
Who starts these dustups is often hard to tell. Before meals, when Telemann, driven by hunger, goes into stalking mode, he will often leap at Truffle and give him a couple of swats. But Truffle, who weighs half as much as the cat, comes right back at him with his gums bared, making an indescribable noise that is neither bark nor squeal, but a sharp, resonant, throaty sound such as I have never heard a dog make. This immediately causes Telemann to retreat—you would too—and peace is restored. Sometimes, it’s Truffle who starts the trouble, and I suspect it has to do with the way the cat is looking at him. But I’m not sure, since sometimes Truffle lets Telemann sniff his face and the inside of his ears without batting an eye.
What is their relationship really like? Is Truffle ever intimidated by the cat? Do they like having a fellow animal around? I wonder what goes on when I’m out of the house. There is no place for Truffle to get away from Telemann—he hates to be crated in the daytime, so that is not an option. All I know is that when I come home they both meet me at the door, Truffle whirling and wagging his tail while Telemann throws himself on his back and wiggles.
Nap time is their favorite. We head to the study after lunch, the cat meowing and leaping ahead, Truffle behind, whirling. We get on the bed and Telemann settles on my pelvis while Truffle stretches on my right. The cat faces me, but Truffle faces towards the door. Every dog I have ever had has faced away from me when lying close—on the lookout for danger, I assume. Truffle presses against me and I rub his ears with my right hand. Telemann purrs and I massage his chin with my left. Pretty soon they are both asleep, and I follow suit. It’s my favorite time of day as well.
One Response
I love your pet stories- very sweet. My cat Casper won’t sleep next to me but he always wants to be where I am as he left his house spot to follow me out on the warm deck and settle in the chair next to me. He sleeps on the side or end of my bed at night. I don’t mind since I get a good nights uninterupted sleep.