Finally Owen

Owen isn’t really our cat…

…he’s their cat.

He belongs to the colony and basically regards us humans as hands. Hands that give him treats, hands that hold or fling toys and hands that will give him a good petting if he just can’t get any from another cat…we’ll do in a pinch. He meows and trills and asks for “hands, please!”

Although adopted from the shelter, he has no sad rescue story. We just needed some color in the group. I’m kidding, in truth I’d lost my 14 year old orange and white tabby, Bustopher several months earlier and had been ooing and awing over a new batch of orange kittens up for adoption. I made a comment to DP that it was a good thing there wasn’t an orange one with white on its face or I’d be a gonner; then tumbling out from the second story play condo comes this little white and orange chirper with only a stub for a tail. He flung himself recklessly into the pile of his brothers and started biting on their ears. I nearly turned inside out when I saw his white chest and paws, not to mention the streak of white lightening across his nose. That following night when DP came home from the shelter, she walked in the door saying she had a surprise for me. She opened a bag and pulled out a brown and white ceramic watering bowl. “It’s for the living room,” she said. “Doesn’t it match great?” I gleefully took it from her, eager to replace the metal one that kept tipping over. As I was admiring the shiny brown two-toned glaze, I sensed DP staring at me. I looked up at her mischievous grin just as she started to unzip her fleece jacket and out popped an orange-faced kitten with a streak of lightening down his nose. He had bright curious eyes and was amazingly calm in the midst of the dog’s usual welcome home jubilation. “Surprise!” The water bowl seemed to dissolve in my hands as I reached out to hold the purring little boy.

Nine weeks old, he was healthy and already neutered. It was the first time we could just take a new kitten and plug him directly into the group. We placed him in a large dog crate to ease the initial meet and greet, but he wanted nothing to do with it, sticking his paws through the bars to touch a mildly hesitant Snafu. After about five minutes we realized the new guy no longer needed to feel safe, and took a chance on just the two of them alone.

 It’s hard to describe Owen without including Snafu. They are only a month apart in age and spent their “grade school” kittenhood together in the office (where all kittens are kept safe while they learn canine body language skills).

Snafu was three months old.

If Snafu is Batman, Owen is his Robin…

…only they aren’t do gooders by any means. They wreak havoc, chasing each other all over the house, tumbling, fighting, teasing the older cats and stealing every cat’s toys. If any cat is enjoying a little solo toy time, Owen will chirp his way over to see what they’re playing with, and try to steal it. If he has a toy of any value, and by that I mean almost any plastic milk ring type toy or furry mouse, he’ll growl at any cat who gets too close. One time we thought we’d flood the kitties with furry mice, since they seemed to covet those most, trying to lower their “market” value. The first time we did it, Owen systematically stole every cat’s mouse, guarding a stash he carried over to a corner.

Snafu can always count on Owen for a good fight and fortunately for the other kitties, Owen seems to be able to take a lot from Snafu, giving him as much back. But Snafu has to push everything to the edge, so sometimes Owen gets tired of getting beaten up and eventually runs from him.

Owen went through a couple names before we hit it right. With so many individuals living in the house, we try to find a names that don’t sound alike – Reebock was used the longest, until the night we spent in the Emergency Veterinary Clinic for Snafu’s pneumonia. While in the waiting room silently contemplating Snafu’s fate, DP glanced at the wall of thank you notes and pictures and saw a photo with the name Owen under it. She looked at me and said, “Owen! That’s his name. Owen!” I knew exactly who she meant and agreed immediately, even though the Owen in the picture was a German Shepherd. Because he barely paid attention to us, Owen never learned any of his other names, so it was an easy transition for him. I, on the other hand, still have trouble coming up with his name when talking about him. The easiest thing my mind can grab onto is his description, so I end up referring to him as Yellow Boy. When we call out to him, we all know his name is “O-WHEEEN!” He knows it too.

To put it in human terms…Owen will roll over for anyone. When he wants some attention, he saunters over to the nearest cat, crashes a head butt into their chest, freefalls to the ground and rolls over, chirping and meowing his pleas to be bathed. It was really sweet when he was a little kitten, but he’s a big boy now and I think sometimes his chosen feline takes exception to his request. They might give him a lick or two, or even a bite or two, then get up and leave. Not Yukon. Owen goes to Yukon the most, and Yukon willingly and lovingly licks his head for hours as Owen purrs and rolls.

They seem to have a special bond, like they know they are the only two cats without long tails and understand each other. They look sort of Yin and Yang with their tabby stripes as they fall asleep after a good licking session, that is, if it doesn’t turn to biting.

When Yukon isn’t available, Owen knows he can come to us. He meows his way over to a lap and throws himself down on his back, crashing his head into our hands for some love. Owen often comes butting into a love session we might be having with another cat. If we reach out to pet Nick, Owen will run from across the room meowing, and walk under my outstretched arm, or between us, if he can. Though he’s too shy to look directly in our eyes very often, it’s hard not to be captured by his big, gorgeous, orange eyes.

Although Owen is Snafu’s best buddy, and has a special connection to Yukon, he generally gets along with all the other cats. He and Penny play chase quite often, and he play fights with just about everyone. He loves group games, giving equal smashing enthusiasm to chasing the laser light as jumping up for the flying feather wand. He still throws himself around recklessly, barely landing on three legs if not on his behind.

He is a member of the Moo Club and will eat kitchen handouts, if he happens to be in the vicinity, but he doesn’t beg for food (we’ve just learned that he is wild about black licorice). He eats plenty, though, and we decided to switch to a weight control kibble due to his growing bulkiness.

Unlike Yukon’s small button stub, Owen has a complete tail; only it’s in miniature. It has a bunch of tiny descending vertebrae that curl around and is covered in a nice tuft of fur. Also unlike Yukon, Owen can waggle his tail in quite a spinning, flag waiving motion. Where normal sized tails may whap their emotions from side to side or even up and down, this quirky guy’s tail swings round and round, like a wind up key, and just about as fast too. Owen does everything fast, including his kneading. He kneads like he’s boxing. He’ll run into the bedroom (meowing of course, as he has to tell us everything he is doing), jump on the bed after a toy, suddenly redirect his attention on the soft blanket, instantly zoning off into extreme kneading, purring and waggling his tail. If we reach out to pet him, he’ll chirp, freefall and rollover into our hands.

I hope you've enjoyed meeting Owen.  ~Lisa Co9T