Almost every writer I know has at least one cat. We had three. Cinnamon, our oldest, died after 20 years. Callie, our youngest, vanished one day. We don't know what happened to her. Sophie, our middle cat, and weirdest cat, grew very happy with being the only cat in the household. She loves it, in fact. Always quirky, she came into her own once she was Lady and High Mistress of the home.
Last week, a young stray cat showed up at our door. A very sweet cat that was obviously accustomed to lots of attention. She's quite affectionate. As she was hungry and rather disheveled, we bathed her and fed her and set her up a place in the garage. We don't want the cats mixing until we've had a chance to take her to the vet for shots and a checkup.
At any rate, Sophie is NOT HAPPY with the arrival of the new cat (we've named her Molly). Every time she sees Molly through the front door or the garage door, she puffs up and hisses. Hopefully, she'll be a lot friendlier once Molly is settled in for good.
For now, though, Sophie is not the happy cat. We've mentioned the concept of karma to her, but she's having none of that.