Actually, last night Landen got the fine idea to sneak under the table next to the couch and peer up at me through the crack between the two. By the time I figured out he was under there, so had Lily, who was in the ready position on the couch cushion behind my head. I reached back to give her the okay, and I must've scared her more than Landen Under the Table did, because she launched herself off the couch, over the table onto the floor behind him, hissing as she flew. And when he stood up and whirled around to face her in fear, she hissed at us both. Poor Landen teared up, the rejection was so strong.
But we have had some breakthroughs. When I pulled Landen's first tooth, he stood in the mirror screaming at the blood and empty space like I was at that moment digging out his teeth with a dull, rusty blade. Once he calmed down and declared it didn't really hurt, Lily came and rubbed against his legs for a millisecond, like she knew the sound of pain and responded to it, even though it was a boy.
Last night her food and water bowls were low, so I instructed Landen (he takes more interest in Lily, Jake is satisfied to respond to her in kind) to put more food and more water in them. After this, she walked by him and commenced eating, and when he bent down and patted her head, she didn't wince, growl or hiss. Nor did she slow her nosh.
Point is, this doesn't bode well for Dixie. Lily is so used to just being with me, then she took to Corey because she's a big flirt and loves the boys. But when Rowdy and Raucous moved in, she had reached her limit of feline tolerance. No children have been injured during this transition, but Corey and I, with our own cat-like reflexes, have managed to avert some near-serious injuries.
I mean, is this not the face of something that would eat your flesh for supper?
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