Living the Sweet Life: I Am “Owned,” Are You?

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Do you own your pet, or does your pet own you? It’s a perplexing question, isn’t it? After much thinking on the subject, and since I do not live with dogs, I have come to terms with the fact that cats at least decide this for you. Let me first say that I don’t mind the ownership part either way, although being the one in charge usually suits me best! Either way, you better believe that life is really grand when you have a cat. I cannot imagine living without them. Like many humans, I have come to discover that some attach themselves to everyone, while others just pick their person and they act as if they own them. Currently, I am an owned person.

In the beginning, I was owned. From day one, Charlie wanted just me. He was so taken by me that he would poop in my shoes if I stayed gone too long, and he would nip at my ankles as I walked through the house at night, most probably trying to get me back to bed to cuddle! He was passive aggressive about how he treated me if I got out of line.

Christopher Thomas stole my heart from the moment I laid eyes on him, and we were an inseparable pair for 19 years. He loved all of us. He would sit with Brian. He would watch the children, and when they were babies, he would let me know they were crying by getting me and flicking his tail in a hook. He’d go a few paces and then stop as if to say, “You coming?” He taught me a lot about routine and balance, and he made me stop working each day so he could sit with his paw on my hand and watch TV. He was like one of our children. You can read more about him in Living the Sweet Life in March 2014.

And then there was William. From day one, he thought he was ruler over all things me. William loves only me, and his days are spent trying to keep track of me. He loves me like no other animal has ever before. When Christopher Thomas died, William immediately took up residence in all of his old spots and stopped doing the things that had driven me crazy for years! It was like he was saying, “We are best friends now, and I will prove it to you!”

At first I was annoyed, because I was grieving. William had not been my cat, and furthermore, I did not particularly want to have one just then. Here’s the thing though. William had always wanted to be mine; I just did not see it. Occasionally, he would pee in my Louis Vuittons, and Brian would just shake his head in disbelief that a cat could do that to my bag and not be kicked out of the house. I guess I am patient. Maybe it’s from shooting newborns for so long. Strangely, as soon as Christopher Thomas died, the peeing stopped. Every night, William finds me, and the conversations begin. After finding me and insisting on smothering me with head butts, he finally settles on a velvet pillow at my right side.

We have a baby here at our house, and his name is Ninja. Last May, when he was only a few days old and nearly dead, he became a part of our family. I got up every three hours and fed Baby Ninja kitten milk and watched him grow. Today, he is a magnificent black panther of a feline. He is big and full of himself.

Being the now well-trained human that I am, I have come to observe those who own me. Occasionally, I catch Ninja staring at William. He makes this little noise that’s not a meow or a growl but more of a little squeak. At night when I take my bath, he sits on the side of the tub and dips his paws into the water to “bathe” with me. If I lean toward him, he will lick the bubbles off of my face to “groom” me.

Lately, Ninja has taken up stealing my shoes, especially the Yellow Box flip-flops, the ones that aren’t exactly cheap. Sometime in the night he takes them up the stairs, hiding them one by one under James Edward’s bed, where he chews them to a big, fat mess. He knows I am not happy about it, but he cares not! I no longer wonder if he is perhaps trying to tell me something. I am destined to be owned for years to come, and truth be told, I would not have it any other way!

Take Care of YOU!

Alisa