Duchess is much less jumpy, and is settling in to her little routine. First thing in the morning I’m greeted by her squeaky little mew, as I shuffle down the hall to get her breakfast. I have to shuffle, because she weaves in and out of my path and I don’t want to kick her. On weekends when we’re a bit late getting up, she gets a little insistent. She doesn’t want breakfast—she wants me to sit on the couch and pet her.
She’s also making herself useful; Duchess is on pest control duty. The rainy weather has been driving all the creepy-crawlies indoors, and once or twice a week I’ll find a dead cockroach in the bathtub or in front of the washing machine. Duchess dispatches them during the night and leaves their little corpses for disposal. She also takes care of any moths that slip in through the door with us.
She frequently chases her tail, too, but every time she catches it something gooses her and makes her jump and lose it.