Even sitting by the window, he gazes inward. He pays no attention to traffic or birds in flight, he just appears absorbed in thought.
Maybe about his new life, maybe about the younger cats still trying to figure him out… Like kids throwing rocks through the windows of a dilapidated house, they pursue him to shove their nose under his nub.
“It is the nature of youth to play, with their foolish lack of purpose, but to suffer their nose up my tuchus? If two swats do not suffice, a quick bite on the neck shall have them running to their mother’s lap with a yowl.”
Of course, Jenny yelps more from surprise than pain: Titanescu doesn’t bite so much as push on you with his teeth. No, the real protest comes from catching a whiff of halitosis from Grumps. Irony for you, coming from the blue eyed little ball of gas.
But even if he knew his fetid breath for what it actually is, there’s no sign this mild indignity would bother the old hero. He lives each day, each hour as a separate life, spending many hours in contemplation.
He’s a cat who’ll go round and round (slowly) over a spot like a dog before settling down, resting his head against an arm or a leg. We’ve not heard him growl or purr, although he’s inflicted the occasional breathy hiss. We’ve learned his ears tell the story: it is time to stop messing him about when they start twitching. Next will be either a push of the teeth or a punch. I’ll take the teeth thing over the paws, at least they don’t bruise, and I can wipe off the excess spit…
Titanescu is I think the only cat I’ve ever known who would not recoil after hissing or hitting a human. He sits very calmly with a stoic look, not even a hint of feeling, ready to hit again if pushed. No sign of fear whatsoever.
In our defense, I think we’re getting trained faster than either Tito or Jenny, although the giddy temptation to “throw rocks” remains.
