My cousins have graduated: one from high school, his brother from college. Truman, being the delightful charmer and life of the party that he naturally is, was invited to share in the festivities. He was a pretty good house guest, considering his age…and the presence of two cats…and the amount of noise and activity being generated by the revelers, many of whom were adolescent males joyously engaged in raucous video games and the dropping of tasty food-bits on the floor within reach of a still-quite-low-to-the-ground dog.
The unflappable Truman didn’t flinch when the elder statescat of the house held his ground and hissed as we approached the front door. He didn’t take much notice of the ubiquitous balloons. And he weathered with good nature, as did I, the many drunken choruses of “Ain’t no bugs on me” (a refrain from a TV commercial for flea prevention, starring a Truman lookalike) sung repeatedly to him by an enthusiastic partygoer.
When things got to be just a bit too much, little Truman and I would escape to the relative peace of the upstairs bathroom (“The Queen’s Room,” as it is known in my aunt’s world) for a time out. Letting him nap and chew bones in the portable soft crate, set upon the cool tile floor of the bathroom, was just the thing to help him center himself. It was also just the thing to allow me to actually head back downstairs to partake of the party food and to hold conversations with other people that were not punctuated with “leave it,” “drop it,” and “sit.”