Ahh the power of cats to move in, take over and begin in their slow, studied way to change your life to their advantage.

Shadow arrived with her brother, Mouser over my protests, proclamations of disaster and doom, rants, and general dismay.

They were too young to be away from their mother, who belonged down the lane to a neighbour and good friend. This good friend was anxious to be rid of the new arrivals to her home, which with the four human babies already present was soon to be blessed with another.

She had her motives and I had mine. Hers however lined up with my son's who desperately wanted not one but two, "so they won't get lonely when we go out."

Too young, untrained and for a while it seemed untrainable, they both arrived at my home. They were not more than five weeks old at the time.

Shadow, named for her habit of following her "big" brother everywhere and doing everything he did, demonstrated the power of her name in her personality. She took whatever came her way and purred as though no real being existed inside her fur, only a shadow of a being with purr thrown in.

Shadow and Mouser (we had high hopes in those days) lived with us for about a year, when Mouser was killed instantly by a car.

The tears from my son soon turned to protests of a new cat, new cat, new cat.

Again I tried to reason. Shadow will not like another cat. Another cat is more responsibility.

Above my discussions, my son merrily discovered a local place where kittens were available, retained the address and thereby impressed me with his ten year old skills into a lull of approval.

We were directed into a semi-dark room where a group of cages lined the wall. Inside of one were four kittens. My son's finger poked through the wire and the three grey tabbies just looked quietly on, as though watching tv.

The fourth, a long haired black fur ball danced forward and batted at the finger, bounced away and came back to bat again.

He bounced and batted his way home in the back seat of the car with my delighted son, bounced and batted into our house, sprang on the couch and began doing the Kitten Defies Gravity spring straight up into the air over and over until we all were laughing.

Thus entered Spike.

Shadow was not pleased, to say the least. She had adjusted quickly to her role as sole cat in the house. She liked to feel the limelight. She liked being the only fur to feel, so to speak.
She had not been well-mothered and now was being asked to mother another.

I saw plainly what was ahead. Add "break up cat fights" to my long and growing list of activities, duties and to-dos attending life as a mother, career woman, and homemaker.

I decided to curtail this by applying some psychology. I sat on the floor with a pocketful of treats and pulled Shadow from one side and the ever active black fur ball to the other.

"See Shadow" I started by stroking her neck and speaking softly " he's really alright."

She turned her head, then her whole body away and began to leave the area.

A treat to the nose got her attention. She returned and sat with her attention on the treat.

The furball dancing around us followed suit. He loved her from the first moment he saw her, as though an already abundant and loving Universe which existed only for his joy had added another level of total bliss: his own substitute mother!

Anything she did, he copied right away, then looked at her for approval.

She held him in quiet contempt and disdain, turning her nose up at his attempts to come closer. When he ignored her low growls as white noise and came closer anyway, she batted her claws at him, missing by a mile but trying to send a signal.

Which he ignored.

Now she had her eye and nose on the treat and he did the same. I saw my chance. Bringing him close to her, I offered her the delectable, which she gobbled as I stroked her and told her what a good cat she was, yes, yes, Shadow that's right.

He kept bouncing and dancing and never took his eyes off her.

I let go to see the long term effects of my experiment.

He danced toward her and she up with her claws, swatted the air above his head, arched her back and hissed.

He took one look at this, brought his tiny paw up, batted the air at her, arched his back and bounced a couple of steps away. Then he sat looking at her for approval.

I chided her, no, no, Shadow, be nice to him, he's only little.

Our insistence upon talking to these animals as though they understand is part of our evolutionary role: in the long story of our past I believe we did speak with animals and they spoke with us. In future, I believe we will again and our insistence on talking as though they understand is the mark of this knowledge.

I brought him toward her again, and again held the treat in front of her nose. She went for the treat and I tucked him up close to her.

Disdain for the little thing fought in her with her desire for the delctables. Being Shadow, the food won out.

By the end of that hour she had a bellyful of treat, he had a warm large body to curl into and I found peace in our home once again.