The Tank has been undergoing a sort of transformation.
Our cat, The Tank, used to be the sort of feline
who inspired distance and caution.
He might choose to rub against you and purr,
but be warned that privilege of contact might be
revoked at any moment.
The house was his, he didn't invite you.
He was a cat who approved of Big E and I,
and generally tolerated the girls, from afar.
But, with the introduction of Mr Fuzzypants,
The Tank's personality has begun to alter.
He is becoming (dare we say it) more tolerant
of people in general, and of the kitten in particular.
He is undeniably good to Mr Fuzzypants.
As his Tank-ishness gentles, I've begun to see him
as a sort of formal English grandfather.
He's becoming the sort of bloke that will sort out
that bit of fur behind the ears, and will attempt to teach
etiquette to the ill bred lout that has been thrust upon him.
"What, what? Up on the kitchen counter? I say not my boy."
"I say sir, stop that scrabbling up the walls!"
There is an undeniable formalness to our older cat.
He'd be the sort of Grandfather that you'd call "Grandfather",
and you'd ask to approach. (But, of course Mr Fuzzypants never does this.)
He'd make sure you ate first (He always lets the kitten eat first), but he'd thump you if you put your feet on the table.
And, he might complain about the noise,
but he'd be the first to go looking if the noise suddenly stopped.