Hopper is doing fine. She has grown more accustomed to the cone and is no longer banging into things as she walks around. We've also discovered the easiest way for her to eat while wearing the cone, and she's pretty happy with that.
Hilbert is a whole different story. He is completely nonplussed by events in his house, and apparently he doesn't recognize Hopper at all. Whenever they're close, he hisses and then takes the widest possible path around her. He seems to think that he's been invaded by some alien creature carrying around a book called To Serve Cats. When Hopper shakes her conehead Hilbert jumps a foot in the air and scurries away.
But I guess we should have expected this. A few years ago a friend of ours came to Southern California to pick up a kitten, and afterward he spent a couple of days with us. The kitten was a tiny furball about 10 weeks old and Hilbert was terrified of it. A kitten! But Hilbert spent a good part of the next two days hiding under the bed.
Cowardice, thy name is Hilbert.
Hilbert is just terrified the cone might try that next on him.
Cowardice? Perhaps more like jealousy and sulking. Kittens and cones draw attention of the human servants away from the rightful feline center of the universe.
Well, Coneheads are from "France".
"To serve cats."
Been a long time since I thought of that episode of The Twilight Zone where the aliens arrived, announcing they were here to serve man. And "To Serve Man" turned out to be the name of their cookbook. Good Lord you're old, Kevin.
"Old"? Not necessarily. Many cable networks/locally-broadcast stations have big Twilight Zone marathons on major holidays. Even the kids are able to watch.
That's why it's called "the cone of shame."