Between blotch and blok

Cat--of the Shadow-y variety--was scooting himself across the carpet yesterday afternoon. M took him to the vee ee tee this morning for the expected diagnosis:
( Cut for Ick )
I've just noticed that my tags include the polite names of many gentleman cats (Mssrs Big, Oswald, Socks, Shadow) and one other similarly named non-cat: Mr Spock.

Difficult. Until you find him the right video to watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2slEoW-vRRI

Adopting a cat means incomplete information. Being warned Shadow was a "big boy" who was entirely food-centred and getting the vital facts about his health were fine. But, sight pretty much unsee, was how he came to us.

The things we learned quickly, that he bites--hard and often--and has snuffly breathing--are not the interesting things. It's the stuff that doesn't appear until he'd settled in that's more interesting.

For example, like most modern domesticated cats, he speaks microwave. We ditched our old one before we moved and only replaced it after Christmas. So, he's had six months of no "bing"! Even the supa-doopa new microwave which doesn't so much bing as cough discreetly in a manner much ike Jeeves (it doesn't play Mozart the way the washing machine does!) was immediately recognised. He lurks round it, comes at its call.

He also comes to explore any tin can that might appear. Sad really, as he's on dry kibble for weight loss (he isn't--losing weight), and he's generally asking for beans or pineapple.

He also likes dripping taps, though it's taken until this week for him to demonstrate this. He didn't chase silver-paper balls until very recently, despite the fact we gave him many. (I'm still waiting for a cat who's as good in goal as Mr Socks was.)

What he mostly knows, unfortunately, is that the way to get attention is to wrap himself around and arm or leg and munch away at the trapped limb. We think he may have lived with some one who payed rough with him. Or maybe he's just a bully. We're working on it.

Who knows what else we'll learn?

There was more debris from the nibbled soap bars this morning, plus a scattering of crap. I hoovered it up. Left the bathroom door wide open. Apart from the period when I'd accidentally shut him in the spare bedroom, Shadow had free access. He was a little sad when we took his warm, squidgy toy from him, but only until he had a large number of treats as a reward.

I suspected he was a good hunter.

Here he is, in all his substantialness. Huge, solid, and far too cuddly to be shady.

He arrived and promptly installed himself in the bread oven in the fireplace. All that was visible was the pair of yellow eyes (I'll get a good picture of that eventually).
Later he fell off the back of the piano and couldn't get out.
Today, all he really really wants is to go down into the cellar. I'm a little worried that he'll fall in the drain with the pump. And failto get out.
Three-year olds! don't-ya just love 'em.