If you've been a reader of this blog for any length of time, you'll know that Truman's an exuberant sort, given to great bursts of energy and making friends wherever he goes. In his estimation, everyone is a potential playmate.
Eighteen-year-old Tigger is no exception.
When they first met, she was not pleased about this young punk Labrador thundering into her territory with all the grace and subtlety of a drunken rhinoceros in red sequined tap shoes. The Roo was, of course, fearless as always, but Aged Feline in Residence Tigger planted herself at the top of the stairs and made her displeasure known by standing her ground, emitting some unearthly growls and I'm-not-kidding hisses, and doing her Jurassic best to position her old bones into a semi-threatening arch of cranky catness.
As the months have passed, Truman's enthusiasm has not waned. While his spirited persistence -- sometimes in the form of a springy hop-dance and the generously hopeful offering of a squeaky toy -- hasn't resulted in the kind of camaraderie he would enjoy in a cat of his very own, there is now at least a level of tolerance that seems acceptable to all parties involved.
The growling is softer now, the hissing less frequent, and the proximity ever nearer. Truman followed Tigger around the living room once, getting close enough to sniff the very end of her tail, at which she merely turned and gave him a dirty look before continuing her long and creaky walk back to bed. I tried to explain to him that Tigger is a senior citizen, not particularly interested in rough-housing with puppies or anyone else.
But hope springs eternal, and so does Truman.