Isabel in mourning

Now that she doesn't have her brother, playmate, soul-mate, companion, nemesis, foil, bathing partner, sidekick to push around anymore, the female cat of the house is having to make some adjustments. She takes naps by herself now. She eats alone. She requires more petting, stroking, scratching, rubbing, especially around the ears. That place on the side of her face, just below the ear, that she likes to rub against things is especially desirous of contact, friction, resistance. She is more vocal than ever, and she expresses her irritation directly to the nearest human.

Is her color changing, or is it my imagination? She still has the charcoal-orange-gray (tortoiseshell?) mixture that has always made her long hair so elegant, but I'm seeing more reddish orange up on her back than before. Maybe it's the change of seasons, like the bleached effect of summer is fading to a darker hue as her winter coat comes in. Or the orange tabby spirit of Gus has infiltrated Isabel's body and altered her coloring.

Isabel always did like to sit in my lap, but now she does it more. There's less foreplay involved, the way she used to circle around, make a few passes, and wave her tail while making up her mind before finally settling in. Now she hops right up on the chair and reclines across my thighs. She will do this with other people, but I seem to be her chosen human, and for that favor I am grateful.

She also vents in my direction. She comes into the room, faces me, and lets fly with a string of angry meows. Of course I can't discern the cat-content of her cat-statement, but I know a complaint when I hear one, and this is one displeased feline.

But it's better than the plaintive roaming from room to room. Sometimes Izzy walks around the house from bedroom to office to dining room to kitchen to den, meowing over and over without stopping. It's a different sound from the demand for food, water, or strokes. This morning she was roaming around the house calling out like that, so I followed her up the stairs to Helga's room. Isabel jumped up on the bed, so I sat down beside her, and for maybe half an hour she rubbed up against my hand, and my hand reciprocated, mostly around the ears and the top of her head, but also down her neck and shoulders.

Helga's room was the place where Gus hung out the most, so it's not a huge deduction to say that Izzy wasn't getting the contact she's used to, so she went there to get it. She's a smart cat, but she's having a hard time.