But I've always said Josephine loves him somewhere in her cold feline heart, and I know The Boy loves her. Kizz-zee and Jo-o were two of his first words. He delights in chasing her and bothering her when she's lazily draped in a windowsill, but he seems to understand Josephine is tolerating him and needs -- no, deserves -- tribute.
I heard The Boy get into the cat-food cupboard this weekend while I was making Derby pies and, without turning, told him to get out of it. The thud of the nearly Boy-sized food container followed and I knew he hadn't listened, but I was mid-pie and figured the worst that could happen was his eating or spilling the Cat's food. When I turned around, I saw The Boy with his fat little fists full of catfood, a trail of bits between Josephine's bowl and the cupboard. The Boy had been filling her bowl a handful at a time, apparently realizing the food container was too big for him to dump. There also was a golfball in her water dish. Not sure what that was about.
But maybe there will be peace after all.