This other creature didn't quite smell like the other giant mutant bald cats that had stopped by from time to time for a visit. No, somehow, Boggs sensed that this one, while potentially somewhat larger than himself, was still on the small side.
Now, Boggs had always been the more submissive of he and Tomo. Despite his gargantuan size, a sharp bap on the nose and a warning hiss from his tiny sister had always been enough to cow him. Tomo always did have a talent for nose-bapping, he recollected ruefully. Plus, as a baby, Boggs had started out being traumatized by the giant mutant cats wrapping him up in fluffy bindings and forcing him to drink tubefuls of nasty tasting pink fluid. He'd always been a bit wary of the others because of this even though the pink fluid torture stopped shortly after that nagging cough he'd had went away.
On the off chance that this predilection for making him drink yucky stuff was a characteristic of those kinds of cats, he'd always hidden whenever one of them appeared. He'd learned to run away whenever there was a knocking sound against that big square thing in the corner of the house, since that generally heralded a visit. For good measure, he'd always run away when he heard a knocking sound or a sudden noise at all because, after all, you can't be too careful.
And now there was this other thing -- this other creature -- in his domain, and everyone else seemed to think of it as no big deal at all. Had they no conception of how this might affect him and his lifestyle? Didn't they realize that he was a refined and sensitive cat who didn't need this sort of stressful aggravation? How could they bring in someone else who would just end up being one more person to intimidate and threaten him in his OWN HOME?
The more Boggs thought about it, the madder he got. I mean, here he was, taking crap from absolutely everyone for YEARS, and they just bring in some new smelly person and expect him to just lie down and TAKE IT? Oh, sure, Boggs won't mind, they probably thought. Boggs will just roll over or run away like he always does. Good old Boggs. What a fraidy cat.
The two giant cats and Tomo were probably having a good laugh over it all at Boggs' expense right this very minute, he thought. Not to mention the new kid -- whatever it was, it probably figured old Boggs would be low man on the totem pole. Again. Just like always.
Suddenly, something snapped in Boggs' formerly timid and intimidated furry head. He looked back over the course of his life thus far, and was ashamed. Yes, ashamed of his cowardice, his always giving in to others, his shyness. It all flooded over him in a wash of one very, crystalline-clear thought: No More!
No more was Boggs willing to be the low man on the totem pole. This new creature was the last straw, absolutely the final, final, end. Boggs was tired of running, tired of being afraid, and he would, by GOD, let this new creature know who was boss.
He crawled out from under the bed, stretched out, and stalked toward the front room where we, unaware of Boggs' newfound courage and fortitude, sat quietly watching TV and paying little attention to the dog or Tomo.
We certainly weren't expecting Boggs to make an appearance, or at least, not so soon.