Entering 30 days of Project Living with The Poet. After nearly three years of solitude, and leaving beer bottles in every garbage can in the house, the presence of a like minded and fiercely independent individual–never  mind the addition of two cats–is a mighty challenge. One of the most pressing needs our union spurned was how to blend two different cat dens without bloodshed.

Cat Den One consisted of a modestly sized and well-mannered calico and an impish black American short-hair. The alpha: a calico named Abra. The beta: Mooshy. Abra valued personal space, privacy and independence. Mooshy loved chasing Abra.

Cat Den Two has been endlessly documented here before. Oedipus, the grandest and most luxurious American black short haired Zen Master in existence, and Electra, an intensely curious and skilled problem solver, a long haired fuzzy striped protege.

The conflict here was obvious. Electra stalked Abra from room to room, when she only wanted to be left alone. Mooshy wanted to play; Oedipus was the primary reciprocator. Initially the newly merged den struggeld in the absence of an alpha cat. After lots of posturing and fretting–mostly from The Poet and me–Oedipus emerged as the winner. With this shift came enormous stability. And quiet nights. Amen.

Nothing worse than a growling cat too paralyzed from fear to flea from beneath the bed at 3AM.

When skirmishes break out now, Oedipus determines the course of escalation and the victors–if any. Should other cats question Oedipus or his rulings, he knows when to let the barbs slide off his fur and when to lay down the law.

Obviously I’m happy balance emerged within the Cat Army, but it was not entirely surprising. Oedipus is fricking huge. And despite his great enormity, when he wants to move, he can tear from one end of the apartment to the other–and back–without wheezing. As it is in nature, and in the wild, so it is in the Cat Army.

There are other lessons, too.

A well-run Cat Army rests upon the satisfaction of two core internal cycles. The cravings of its stomach and the pressings of its bowels. Both natural processes are fraught with hazards and challenges.

In the pre-Poet days, there were two cat food bowls and specific eating times. Now there is one trough. Whatever happens at ground zero. . . well, it just works itself out. Cats feasts when they feel like. Some gorge and retreat. Others nibble and return throughout the day.

Obviously there’s a lot of kibble being consumed. What goes in must be processed for later elimination Comically, the greatest discovery in the last twelve years of my life has been in the field of retail cat litter products. For a multi-cat household, only one litter has what it takes to contain toxic plasmosis and nasty fumes. SWheat scoop. The only flushable, scoopable, allergen free cat litter on the market. The secret is, it’s wheat. Frankly, I don’t care what the hell is in the stuff. By the the powers of all that is holy, the product just works.

And I can flush it without blowing the toilet to bits.