Before we unpacked the car, we gave the cats fresh water and food. Now, Tom eats in the bedroom while the others eat in the kitchen. Given his boisterous tomcat-that's-still-a-kitten energy, you'd this was because he bullied the others out of their food. Quite the contrary: the only time he's not remotely aggressive is when it comes to feeding time. The girls (event the wussy older girls) push him away from his dish. They get tubby, he goes hungry. Lose-lose.
Anyway, we fed the voracious critters and set to unpacking the car. Fifteen minutes later, we scooted into the bedroom with bits of costume and luggage. There was Tom, sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed, food utterly untouched. He meowed, purred, butted his head against Don's hand, then turned to me for skritches. This went on for about ten minutes before he finally went to his dish and began eating. "Wow," said my sweetie, "I think Tom has abandonment issues." Which sounds funny, but, when I think about his life - or at least what I can suss out about it - makes sense. The remainder of the evening, he bounced between Super Snuggle Spooning Cat and Hyperactive Racing Kittybeast. Today, he's barely left my side.
He may occasionally be a pain in the ass, but I'm glad he found us.