Funny thing, this business of ownership.

These pink polka-dot socks on my feet are mine. The half-finished cup vat of green tea on my desk is mine. Your patience with my strange sense of humor is all yours (bless your heart). But in what sense - if any - is a cat really yours or mine? Do we - can we - ever own a living, feeling soul wrapped in purr and fur and awesomeness?

If you smell something burning, don’t worry - we’re just thinking Deep Thoughts again.

Caitlin started this particular train of thought. In technical, legalese, contract-kinda terms, Caitlin has been “owned” by at least four entities. When she first came to Tabby’s Place, the public shelter that had rescued her transferred legal ownership to us. With an adoption contract, we transferred ownership to her first adopter. That ownership was, sadly, transferred back to us when her adopter became gravely ill. And we were giddy to transfer ownership one last time to Wonder-Mama Carole last week. It’s the love of a lifetime, bar none.

But, on a deeper level: who owns Caitlin?

Or Toya. You may remember this uber-calico - the one with the guff that’s something even bigger than tortitude. If Toya were a human, she’d be an alloy of Queen Latifah, John Travolta in Hairspray, Rosie the Riveter, and a pinch of Carmela Soprano. You don’t mess with her, she messes with you…your heart and soul, that is. With that big, occasionally-biting attitude, Toya was worth waiting for…and she had quite a wait. Adopted and returned twice to a crowded public shelter, she finally found a haven at Tabby’s Place, where the wait continued. Toya twirled, danced, flirted and yowled with a mischevious, undimmable glimmer in her eye for nearly five years at Tabby’s Place. But when Mrs. Toya finally arrived, she had  just one meeting with our uber-calico and didn’t want or need to meet a single other cat: she was sure this was her girl.

She was. Was. My heart crashed into grief when we got the news that Toya’s mama had passed away, and Toya was coming back to Tabby’s Place. She’s back in Quarantine now, and by all accounts doing remarkably well. Toya is Toya in all circumstances: bouncy, confident, loving, bodacious. She’ll find love again - here for sure, and in a home of her own again, I trust.

A home Toya can call “mine.” But who can say to Toya today, “you belong to me; you are mine”? Who owns the cat who can’t be tamed? (And let’s not delude ourselves: even the most docile snuggle-puff is not tame. G-rated movies and unflavored gelatin are tame. Cats? Not so much. Nor would we want them to be. Why take “tame” when you can have “real?” But I digress.)

I’ll tell the whole blogosphere what I’ve confided to friends all along: my heart knows that Webster is as much mine as the cats who share my house and life, Dibbles and Pippa. What difference does it make that he lives at Tabby’s Place? I know I’m not the only one in this boat. Sesame is Danielle’s - she raised him and will love his speckle-nosed self all the days of his life, even though most of them will happen outside her orbit. Harley is Ginny’s - the love on “their” desk makes it all quite evident. Pepper is Jonathan’s (and Jonathan is Pepper’s) - now and forever.

Is it possible for a human to call a cat “mine” when perhaps she’s never even met him in person? Might there be someone in New Zealand to whom Bellis or Tashi or Toya is, in some sense, hers?

I’m going to squeak out a “yes.”

At the same time, again, let’s not delude ourselves: we don’t own our cats any more than we own our children or our third uncles. But I gotta believe that we - and I speak for both species here - do all belong to Someone, just One who has the right to “own” us. No matter where we are - cherished in a forever home, surrounded by family, alone in a sewer drain or empty apartment, or facing our final moments - if we have ears to hear, we’ll hear what we need to hear from Someone who means it: “You are mine.”

The homeless man and hound dog on the corner. The president and poorest child in every country. Toya. Caitlin. Webster. Marlee. Grady.

We belong.

The love we cannot lose makes the tangible belonging all that much sweeter - and it makes us keep loving. Once we know that we are “owned,” loved, someone’s, we can love with abandon. Until we know it - really really know it - we aren’t much use to the ones hungry for love.

So today I say to Toya, to Webster, to you beloved Felis Catus friends, and to my own forgetful, foolish heart: you have a place. Your person or family or earthly dream may come, and I hope he/she/they/it comes in a flash. But in the meantime, you are no less loved - and no less “owned” - than the luckiest man/cat/man-eating cat on the planet.

Own that.

Tags: bellis, caitlin, deep thoughts, harley, pepper, sesame, starlet, tashi, toya, webster

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