It wouldn’t be so bad if it were one of those poor, endearing waifs who clearly need someone to love them.
Tango is one of THOSE cats. He’s a big, beefy, bosscat of a cat – looks sweet and adorable but is about as sweet and adorable as a steamroller. I haven’t yet sussed whether he and Charlie are friends or mortal enemies, and if the latter it’s clearly Tango who has the upper paw.
Two mornings running now I’ve fed Charlie in the kitchen first thing and then made my way into the lounge, only to find a huge black and white Tango curled up in a corner of the sofa, making himself perfectly well at home. One good thing – he doesn’t get any of Charlie’s food, Charlie’s far too quick off the mark for that! And there doesn’t seem to be any animosity when Tango arrives as there’s no hissing or mewling or violent scrapping disturbing my slumber in the night (and the flat is small enough for it to be impossible for claws to be drawn without either me or the Smudgelet hearing it).
Each time Tango’s been evicted with a clear message of displeasure on my part (The Smudgelet can’t quite summon up the same degree of enthusiasm in evicting the squatter – he’s won over by the “sweet and adorable” act). But it doesn’t seem to deter him. Not one bit.