Last Saturday, our world, if not turned upside-down, was thrown off its axis with the arrival of a 6 pound, 11 ounce ball of fur.
Unlike her predecessor, our beloved Mabel, she did not immediately adapt to her environment.
Maggie spent the first couple of days in the rafters in the basement.
Tuesday morning, I got a call from Judy at the shelter asking how she was doing. The prognosis: not good. She was hiding all the time, not eating and barely drinking. Judy suggested we put her in a small room with all of her stuff and see if that helped.
So, I stormed the basement, dragged Maggie from her hidey hole, put her in the carrier, and shuttled her up to our old bedroom. It's small but warm. And it has a day bed in it, perfect for kitlettes to hide under.
The change was dramatic.
After I got her settled, complete with classical music, I sat in the rocking chair, read my book and waited. Ten minutes later, she was on my lap, in my face, and wrapped around my heart.
Shortly after lights out, I heard a crash. She'd discovered my jewelry. I found it strewn on the floor. Lesson learned. I scooped it up and put it in the drawer. I had neglected rule #1: cats seldom play with the toys that were intended for them.
Because there were few men at the shelter, it took Maggie a little longer to warm up to Mr. Ginley. But she has now. She sits in his lap and turns on the motor full throttle.
Last night, we opened up her world just a little to the whole upstairs. She jumped in and out of our bed, and we could hear her exploring her expanded environs.
Maggie is now eating and drinking heartily. She purrs a lot. And she loves rolling around on the carpeting. We are happy and relieved that she is adapting.
We'll have to see how things go when she gets to the first floor. I already know she does not like the television, so that will be an adjustment.
I just want to keep her out of the rafters!
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