For over a year, I had five cats.  Three belong to me, one was my daughter's cat and one belonged to her husband. They were living in Basel, Switzerland.  Taking the cats  overseas was not an option.  I liked cats. Unfortunately.  I thought that it would not be much more work to have five furry feline friends to share my home with instead of three.  Perhaps it is not an issue for crazy cat ladies or cat hoarders.  But I had not become either of those.  Yet.  So, Hoag came first, he fit in well.  My cats would ignore him or cuff him when he got out of hand.  He learned that in the pecking order, he was at the bottom.  He did not seem to mind, the food was plentiful and if he whined enough, someone would groom him back into a good humour.

Two years later, Mula joined our happy tribe. Mula, my son-in-law's cat was a different story.  She came from a home in which she was the queen;  even the Rottweiler  who lived with her respected her majesty.  But,  she was put into a cage and  dropped off into a what was surely a living Hell for her.  Four male cats; one of them, certifiably insane, another borderline.  One crotchety older cat and a cat so laid back that he seemed permanently stoned. 

I cannot really fault her for her rebellions.  It did show some imagination and skill.  Defecating into your enemies' food is a very potent message.  It was certainly better than tearing their ears off which from the look in her eyes was something that she considered.   She developed her own neuroses and became passive-aggressive.  And stealthy.  Mula was never caught in the act of sabotage, but she was the guilty party.  

War was raging in my home.