Eventually Beau matured and mellowed some. He's not laid back, by any means. Now age three, he's fully grown – at least we hope he is, because he's a big fellow. In competing with Cappy (now in a new home, with two people who love him very much and an orange female who is still miffed), Beau managed to pick up extra poundage.
By sheer mass, he dominates the other cats (except Tuxedo, whose utter fearlessness makes even Beauregard shift into reverse gear). All but one have fled, relinquishing the bedroom territory to this oversized beast. The one who stayed, a characteristically crazed tortie, is perpetually glued to Kevin. She keeps a sharp eye on Beau, rendering herself invisible when necessary.
Status secured (illusory as it is), Beau was finally able to relax some. He stopped flinching when touched unexpectedly and learned to enjoy human affection. With bruising head butts, he noses into the crook of an arm and nestles down, making gargantuan biscuits with his mighty paws.
These days, we take pains to offer Beauregard lovin' at unexpected moments. He always seems surprised when this turns out to be enjoyable. Our cocky little hoodlum still attacks the palms (ceiling-scrapers) to summon food or a doorperson, but he is finally beginning to resign himself to our authority.
Read on . . .