kitty projection

my cat is neurotic. she will not to be picked up unless just before the pellets hit the bowl and then just behind her shoulders, legs stiff as drum sticks, a measly 3, 4 feet off the linoleum and not in arms, not hugged against chest. visitors oo and ah and reach out to pet her, but she darts away, fussy and paranoid. with visitors she hides in my closet on a shelf waiting impatiently for them to leave. if a dog barks she hibernates until it's gone. on the other hand, with me, she's awesome. she sleeps under the covers, in the crook of my arm, on her back, purring. she loves to have her belly rubbed when it's cold out. her purr is so loud you can hear it a room away. her prized trick is to slip in and out of my bedroom through a pantry portal between the kitchen and my room, a miniature swiss window she discovered when we moved in 7 years ago. she's getting on, 10-12 years old. i worry that once she hit's 17 she'll be shitting herself and unable to jump, to access the glory hole. when she arrived at my apartment for the first time she hid behind a couch for two weeks until she got up the tits to emerge and stake out the territory. for years that territory has been this apartment, unshared with any other beast. a revolving door of room mates and friends until last week when a new kitty, an irresistibly cute, fluffy, Yoda-whiskered guy moved in, skin, bones and fur. his name is Mao after the Chinese dictator. my room mate thought he looked dictatorial with his tough guy stance and big paws. we went down the list: Hitler, Stalin, Idi, Pol Pot and chose Mao, because, ok, that's the sound he makes: 'Mao'. we love the little fella. how could we not? he's fuckin' wonderful. but Sofi is petrified. Mao scampers about the house on curiosity skates and Sofi hides on her shelf like a rejected glove. i don't know what's going on in her kitty brain, but i imagine all sorts of terrible thoughts. that i'm cheating on her, that i don't love her anymore, even as i pat her more than ever. i've made my bedroom her sanctuary so she can eat in peace. once Mao's big enough to leap through the hole, that'll be the end of the quarantine. at first i blamed her. i thought, fuck, get over yourself, Sof, you weirdo. any other cat would have handled the kid no problem. but i call the vet and she tells me that this is normal. that it might take one to six months to a year for Sofi to adjust, if not longer. a friend of mine went through the same thing with her guy and that cat is still, two years down kitty lane, freaked. i did take one indulgent step. the vet suggested a product from France, a plug-in atomizer good for a month. it wafts oily feline fumes into the atmosphere that have a calming effect on an upset kitty. sometimes it works, sometimes not. but i bought the Eau de Chat and it seemed to do the job. Sofi acquired a sort of Xanax equilibrium. occasionally she peeks around the kitchen corner and stares down the hall at Mao who's staring back from the far end. maybe when no one's home they hang out and have a laugh over how worked up we humans get over all this. i love her. i need her to be ok. i tell her that. she purrs. i imagine she listens and is working on it with some invisible, screwball shrink. coda: things seem to be better of late. both creatures lie on the same bed blinking at each other, paws crossed.