(no subject)
My cat now. His name (from a long ago lover) was Guillaume. That was my father(whom I hated)'s name. He is now Buster. I cannot call someone I love the name of someone I despised. He is a Buster. He does not love. Every interaction with him is something he expects to pay for.
He expects to attack intruders. His bed is located where he can see and hear both front and back doors being opened. After two years, he has mostly stopped attacking my husbandman. He's only snarled at me once lately.
Oddly ynough, for a wild/feral cat, he does not grab food off the counter. He'll go after your plate, but responds to "No! Mine!" and flick at his forehead.
He has changed through several odd habits since he arrived here. I can handle them.
Anyone who wanted Daphne's cat has no idea what he is. He is PTSD to the max. Fathoming his triggers is part-time game. He now actually solicits petting. Only took two years. Soliciting petting elicits feeding. Think it's love? The cat may have not been borne so, but his history has made him. I will keep loving the cat, but can't guarantee any breakthrough.
Brent says that everyone wanted this cat of Daphne's. I wonder how many of them would put up with not being loved and his hostility to strangers and his constipation shit-all-over problems. He's not very lovable, and not easy to convince that he is lovable at all.
Yes, I took possession of Daphne's cat. He was no Perrine. I knew that, too.
If anyone wants to know how Guillaume/Buster's doing, ask. His habits change as he adapts to unconditional love. It's an alien concept to him.