You know how cats like to go in and out. When they go out, they want to come in. If they’re in, they want out. Yes, even if they’re indoor cats they go in and out within the house. If I go into the bathroom, Mittens scratches at the door to be let in. The minute I let her in, she wants out.

But beyond regular comings and goings of cats who can’t make up their minds where they want to be, that cats have been going in and out of my life. In an earlier post, I introduced Sammy, a.k.a. Ironpaws.

He came to live with us while my friend, his owner (I suppose the politically correct word is “guardian”) moved out of state in search of a new residence. She found a new home for herself in Arizona. When she came back for a visit, she took Sammy with her.

I miss dear Sammy but I’m relieved, all the same. He and Mittens just weren’t getting along. They never did—not even after living together for almost a decade. I got Mittens from the same friend who had Sammy, so they’ve been housemates for a long time. She remembered him. Did she ever.

The problem is that Sammy is the Alpha Male, the tough, macho, male chauvinist, keep-‘em-barefoot-and-pregnant type. Well, okay, he’s been neutered, but old attitudes don’t change, if you know what I mean.

What it boils down to is that he had no respect for Mittens. Absolutely none whatsoever. He’d hiss at her, bonk her on the head with his iron paws, chase her from her food bowl, and run her off the bed.

Mittens got fed up. Completely fed up.

It got to the point where she’d hiss at him just for passing her by.

But then again, sometimes I’d find them sleeping peacefully near each other—though never close enough to touch. You never know with cats.

At any rate, when Sammy got whisked away in his carrying case (I gave him one that Mittens had used), Mittens did a victory dance. Okay, she didn’t exactly dance. But was she ever pleased.

She looked like a cat who’d just eaten a canary. Or one who’d just bested Iron Paws in a boxing match.

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