A tall, slim orange-buff cat, I decided to name him after Angus Og, the Irish god of love. Fourteen months old, neutered male, he was friendly, inquisitive, and playful, and the shelter workers suggested him as the best candidate to be a good playmate for Ben.
Oh, they remember Ben.
"The frat boy cat!" (Frat boy cat...? Well, he does belch...and snap my bra...hmm...okay, yeah, I can see it...) "He got over the biting thing? Oh, good...Anyway, we talked about it," said the adoption counselor, "and Ben has such a big personality, we figured you needed a cat that wouldn't fight him for dominance, but was assertive enough that Ben couldn't just sit on his head and fart."
Yup, they remember Ben all right.
The cats seem to be interested in one another without being hostile--while the carrier was sitting in the living room, they studied each other without hissing or yowling, with apparent polite interest. (It's funny how BIG Ben looks--while Angus is about the same height, Ben's built like a linebacker and looks it.) Angus is now in the bathroom, which he doesn't much like--he's mowling, and wants me to come in and pet him--while Ben is sticking close to me, just in case the newcomer should prove to be a ninja. He seems puzzled and a bit tense, but not particularly alarmed by the new addition.
I shall attempt to keep them separated as suggested. We'll see how long that lasts before they decide to circumvent my feeble human blockade and take matters into their own paws.