I have mentioned before this stray cat that would visit us from times to times and consent to be petted and, occasionally, to drink some milk. It was not obviously male as most male cast are, so for many months we thought of it as a she. A little over ten days ago, she came to our front door mewling desperately, when I opened the door to give her milk, I realized she had been attacked by some big animal, possibly a dog, and was so badly injured that I didn’t have the heart to put her back in the scorching sun outside. After consulting with my husband, we took her to the vet were we discovered that she was actually a neutered male cat, and we decided that, since he had no collar or microchip, we might as well keep him and he owed us an inordinate amount of money for the treatment we might as well keep him. Yesterday evening was his first day at home. And how did that go?

Well, he was excited to be in our house, seemed to like both of us well enough, and claimed a corner of the couch immediately. He appeared politely disinterested in any of the toys or the cat furniture we had bought to make him feel welcomed, but was fascinated by every bag, box, paper, and pile of non-cat related stuff or furniture he saw, including my home-office chair, from which I unceremoniously evicted him—he finally settled for a decorative basket and throw that were not intended for him anyway but I didn’t mind so much to lose. Round one for the cat.

He refused to drink tap water, insisted on trying to drink from the toilet, and when we did not allow him, indignantly accepted to lap only at a bowl of fresh mineral water. He did accept a few cat treats, and later that evening a pinch of catnip made me his favorite person in the whole living-dinning room area. And then, the evening came and it was time to go to bed…

Maj made a scandal during the night and didn’t let us sleep much because he didn’t want to be alone and we didn’t want to let him sleep in our bed. He figured out (or perhaps he already knew) how to open the doors in the house so we had to lock the pantry and our bedroom, then he kept mewling until my husband went to sleep in the couch with him. Round two for the cat.

Maj learned how to take off the body-suit that is supposed to protect his healing wound from rubbing against everything and from catching dust and dirt. He put on a fight when we try to put it back on him, we succeeded but in the process he scratched—just a surface scratch that he now pretends wasn’t any of his doing—my hand. I tapped him softly on the head and scolded him, he cringed and ran from there and since then he refuses to enter our room. Round three is a tie.

This morning he was all aloof, injured dignity until I fed him, then I became his favorite person again, or perhaps his favorite cat’s food dispenser. I am tired, my husband went to work not looking so chipper himself; Maj is in the couch, well fed and taking a nap as deep and innocent as the sleep of the blessed. Round four for the cat. So far, he is winning.