The cats KNOW what's up.
A co-worker of Mama's needs to relocate his old cats (two 14-year-old 10-pounders, one black and one with stripes) and has no takers.
Except maybe us.
We're considering it. We've checked with a pet-foster-parent friend, a friend who has taken in a lot of other older cats, the internet, and even the vet. We've discussed it together and have even polled the kids (because being in on major family decision-making is a good exercise.) We're mainly concerned about the stress on either our cats or the older ones; we have the space and the work is just about the same as far as food and litter box goes. We'll decide this weekend.
But our cats just know.
I'm guessing they've learned to understand English and know what we're considering.
Just now, when I got home from my historic house tour, they both met me at the door midday. And then Albus followed me upstairs, gave me a "head poom" (formerly a head bonk; see the French pattycake cats video for context), and then fetched his toy mouse. We played fetch a few times.
And there have been other incidents of following us around and meowing and wanting extra attention. For instance, last night, Albus buried his face in his box of toys and waited for us to play with him. Then he and Hermione jumped around for half an hour.
In fact, Albus is purring in my arms right now. And Hermione did the same thing this morning.
They know and I think they don't want roommates. I'm only guessing--they haven't learned to SPEAK English yet.