Buddy, rest his soul, was one cool cat. Missing a leg, he turned his attentions to life’s less strenuous pursuits. He ate. He purred. He stuck his nose in the ear or butt of any man or beast who would tolerate it. He considered all of creation to be his personal friend. He was a loved and loving member of Betty’s household.

A couple of months ago, he died. It was sad, but he was an old guy in cat terms and, at least the latter part of his life, he was happy. He was survived by Betty and the other cat, Kitty.

Kitty mourned, as much as a cat can mourn anything. Of the feline population in the apartment, she was queen and her one loyal subject was gone. She moped about and hissed at empty space. It was hard to sit by and watch so Betty decided to take action.

Enter Buddy Junior, a tiny kitten rescued from a sinking boat at the Marina. Unlike his predecessor, Junior has all four limbs and a lot more energy. Betty and I both think he’s cute as a button but Kitty is less impressed.

She growls, hisses, and swipes at him with her paw. He backs up, circles around, and charges her from another direction. She is not amused. He is delighted.

The monarchy is dead. Long live the free world.