The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure, the process, is its own reward.
Spelunker and the stray I adopted when JW moved to the Indian school in NM where another friend already work have now quit their hissy fit stage and are into bosom buddy-ness. Since they play together actively, Spelunker has run off a full pound. Two Faced, a tortoise shell with a throat patch and belly white, has a black half and an orange half of her face. She weighs in at 3.4 pounds to Spelunker's now svelte 10.4 pounds. Her head is less than half the size of his. She's long, lean, agile and coordinated. They seem to be within months of each other's age.
Yesterday, Spelunker jumped into the arm chair Two Faced was sleeping in. He curled up on the far side, carefully not toughing any part of her body. I'm not sure who moved first, but soon they were cuddled up in the middle. Spelunker awoke, his nose near her ear. In a totally analogous gesture to a boy on a date putting his arm over the girl's shoulders as they sat in a movie theater, Spelunker's white front paw clear up to his shoulder contrasted with her black and orange as he draped her sleeping form with it. His nose began to twitch. His tongue came out and he licked her head, moved to the ear she'd been holding slantwise and digging at all day (the reason I'd called to get both treated for ear mites), then tried to insert it to the bottom where the trouble was.
Two faced woke up, moved her head out of his reach, then returned to her snooze. He adjusted his position and licked across her face, up her eye to that pesky ear again, a la a character in a Harlequin romance...
He rode to the vet's in my arms, while she, who is not a good traveler yet, was crated. Spelunker was as intrepid as always. A man entered with a gorgeous blond nearly year old "house dog" -- half Lab, half Great Pyrenees. The man, seeing he was basically loose in my lap, was afraid his big, overly friendly dog would spook my cat.
I told him about the Great Dane who had thrust his entire head into Spelunker's face when he first came into the area without getting him upset. He allowed Molly to come over to greet me. When Molly began to switch her interest from me to Spelunker, he informed me that she'd never seen a cat before.
They had a good first meeting until Molly began to wash Spelunker's tush. Before he shifted from vaguely uneasy to indignant, I moved her head off so that she was washing my hand. It was a good way to meet a cat -- no claws in the nose, no dashing off to hide, which just eggs a dog onto the chase, no harsh words from owner or new friend.
Both cats did well with the ear cleaning. No, they didn't enjoy it, but no histrionics were displayed. When I opened the crate, Spelunker surprised me by climbing right in with her, where he stayed until it was his turn. They rode home in the same tiny crate.