Miss Mao doesn't like Little Boy and she makes her antipathy very clear. They started off on the wrong foot, you see. Miss Mao is friendly but strictly on her own terms. Miss Mao doesn't GET cuddled, SHE comes and cuddles you. If you're lucky, she'll come and settle on your lap whilst you sit at the sofa to read. But if you presume to touch her in a way she dislikes she'll get up, give her ample bottom a good shake and sway off with as much dignified portliness as The Royal Garfield himself. And you are NEVER NEVER NEVER rough with Miss Mao.
Miss Mao expects respect and she gets it.
Anyway, Little Boy is the clumsy affectionate sort. When he saw Miss Mao, he thumped across the wooden floor with heavy boy steps to try and hug her. Miss Mao gave him a cold look and swayed off like the best of them Queen Mothers when faced with rude and uncouth serfs of strange provenance.
Hug me? You presume to hug me? Don't you know who I am?
Oh well... Little Boy shrugged his shoulders and then went off to play with the sheep and steal eggs from the chickens. A few days later, Miss Mao peered through the gap of the door at Little Boy reading in his bed. The Daughter and I observed her from the corridor when all of a sudden, the door slammed shut and poor Miss Mao leapt four paws in the air, her fur standing on end. When she landed, she shook her head to clear it and then recovered the shreds of her dignified self, and went to wash herself on the step leading down to the dining room. Little Boy was of course very sorry. He hadn't realized that Miss Mao would get offended. Our Milo of course wouldn't have got offended. Milo would have sat outside the door and whined until we opened it for him. Don't expect Miss Mao to do that though.
But Miss Mao never forgave him. She never went near Little Boy again and when Little Boy tried to mend bridges, he was rewarded with 2 bites, a scratch and a few hisses. Little Boy was somewhat sad to be likewise ostracised, and he confided in me. I didn't think much of it until this morning.
The Daughter sat on the carpet hoping that Miss Mao would come by to cuddle her. Miss Mao did because The Daughter moves gently and talks softly, and has a talent for figuring out where animals like to be scratched. Little Boy, seeing an opportunity for a detente of sorts, stepped forward and reached out a hand. Miss Mao gave a low meow and gave him The Look... then she sauntered off. The Daughter translated the meow... "You again!?"