It’s a girl!

When we had to say goodbye to our 13-year-old cat Puffy, Dear Husband and I were very sad. Considering how Puffy was always a shy little fellow, not having the greatest skills at inter-cat relations, we were surprised at how much his passing affected our two other cats.

Mr. Bond and Puffy had grown up together, only a year apart in age. Even though, in life, James Bond had regarded Puffy as an Annoying Idiot, he kept looking for him, and threw up for three days afterward. But the greatest suffering seemed to be RJ’s.

While I had always praised him for being such a sweet, undemanding, friend to Puffy, I hadn’t realized how much RJ merely “hanging out” near Puffy had developed a relationship between them. Apparently, RJ grokked Puffy. And now he was missing him terribly.

This contributed to our decision to get another cat even sooner than we’d planned, since RJ was showing no signs of snapping out of it. He wasn’t popping up all the time for a quick cuddle. He was staring into space with great sadness in his eyes. And mealtimes were no longer fun times, since both cats prowled the space where the third bowl was supposed to be.

Since our small apartment didn’t provide much space for establishing separate territories, we needed a same-type kitten for the fastest assimilation with the least conflict. A young one could be the playmate 2-year-old RJ yearned for, and RJ was the right tool for keeping the kitten out of 12-year-old Mr. Bond’s retirement plans.

So the search began.

Share our joy. This is Olwyn.

Gender: Feminine, Usage: Welsh
Means “white footprint” from Welsh ol “footprint, track” and gwen “white, fair, blessed”. According to Welsh legend, shamrocks bloom where she walks.

A big thank you to my friend B’s moral support, and the ride to the shelter an hour away. B was always a big Puffy fan, maintaining that Puffy was actually a secret genius. So it was entirely appropriate that she be godmother to our new kitten.

Petfinder can let us know about the possibilities near us. This invaluable tool helped me decide which shelter to visit first. Our area shelters do a wonderful job in writing personality descriptions and offering pictures.

So when I started browsing, I kept coming back every day or so, knowing that many kittens were still being processed. I still hadn’t found one which compelled me to fill out an application.

Then the first picture to really draw my attention popped up. I loved his elfin appearance. My hunch was that this one needed some extra TLC, something I knew we could provide.

I filled out the application. I didn’t tell Dear Husband.

Since last time I didn’t come home with the kitten I had picked out, arriving at the shelter to find he had gotten a home the previous day, I felt it could happen again. Dear Husband was fine with me choosing; his illness meant he couldn’t come, anyway, so the final decision would be up to me. I gave it several days, and then called.

My application was fine. The kitten was not. He was part of a litter who had come in undersized and had some failure to thrive problems. PDF link. The vet was working with them. There was no obvious illness. Their problems were because of being taken from their mother too soon and not adequately cared for until they arrived at the shelter. The little guy could turn the corner.

I planned a shelter visit with my friend B. Even if I couldn’t take him home, I could see if our bond was still working in person. Days before our scheduled visit, I called to see how he was doing, and got the worst possible news. There had been three kittens in that litter. He was the smallest; he had died.

The shelter manager was very sweet. She said the other two were rallying, and they had a lot of kittens. I decided to go through with my original shelter visit. It’s always a process. We arrived and were shown into the kitten room, with twenty kittens.

My friend B noticed I went immediately to the cage with the little kitten whose Petfinder entry is the picture above. She turned out to be another one from that difficult litter. The other sister was a full tortoiseshell, and did not come out from the back when she saw me.

But the pale one did; and stared right into my eyes.

So what made me hesitate? I wasn’t sure. These were still sick kittens; were they better off being cared for here? I hadn’t really considered a girl, since Dear Husband’s stated hope was for another Beta boy, though I knew he was flexible. And there were some lovely boys there.

Even though the shelter’s office wasn’t really set up as a visiting room, they let me take a couple of prospective boys from their cages and see how they did. They were young and healthy and lively and wonderful. They were both Betas. They would both work out.

But in the end, as I told them to fill out the paperwork and I saw the manager’s pen about to fill in the kitten’s name… I had to go with my heart. I asked to hold the little pale girl. I was told she was friendly, but not much of a cuddler.

But when I took her in my hands and brought her up to my face, she reached for my neck, snuggled in under my chin, and started purring.

That was that.

She was the next smallest in that litter. But she had turned the corner, was eating better, able to digest the meat baby food they were offering, and was alert and reactive.

I peeled her off my neck to let her stroll around the shelter office. I wanted to check her walk and gauge her strength. Within minutes, I knew she was a Beta. She explored, but did not fixate like an Alpha. She was openly curious about new things, not hanging back to seek familiarity like a Gamma.

She was not showing neurological damage and not frantically searching for a litter box, so her issues were under control. She wanted to play with the toy mouse, another good sign.

I could tell the shelter manager was reluctant to let her go so soon. I told her the kittens’ new family was aware of her issues, that I would whisk her to my vet at the first sign of trouble, that I would take up the slack on further baby shots and checkups rather than letting the shelter do it.

I didn’t want to go home and leave her there. Even though she was doing better, she wasn’t thriving. The missing element even the most devoted shelter cannot provide is a home. That was how RJ had bounced from shelter to shelter, still skin and bones despite vet care. He wasn’t getting the vital element he needed. Love; the one thing shelters are not set up to provide.

What really changed the shelter manager’s mind was my friend B’s description of how I had nursed our Reverend Jim. By the time she got to how magnificently RJ had turned out, the shelter manager was reassured.

As she presented the pet contract for my signature, she confided, “The vet and I think there’s nothing wrong with her that good mothering won’t fix. Out of all the kittens here, this is the one who needs mothering the most.”

The shelter’s vet gave her a tentative birth date of 3/3/09, which makes her three months old. She was rescued at six weeks, and had been fighting for her life since then. She’s about half the size she should be, much too thin, with scraggly fur and ulcers on her tail and hind legs from the digestive problems that almost took her.

I think she’s beautiful.

On the ride home, B teased me about my indecision. “Why don’t you just walk in and ask for the most pathetic kitten in the place? That’s who you wind up taking home anyway.”

That does happen more often than not. But the same drives are still there; they need to be the right kitten for us. Their problems, if any, must be ones we know how to tackle.

Olwyn is a dilute tortoiseshell, or “blue cream,” with multi-colored patches over a light background, instead of a dark one as with full tortoiseshells. From the face shape and ear settings, I’m thinking the longhair genes came from a Norwegian Forest Cat.

Legend has it that tortoiseshells have the tortoiseshell attitude, or “tortitude.” The meaning varies by the person offering the definition, based on their own cats, but charm, intelligence, and assertiveness are usually part of it.

Since torties are almost always female, due to the color linking on their X chromosome, it’s entirely possible that a cluster of traits came along for the ride. Of course, any cat’s personality is a mix of their genes and their environment; thus, there are no hard and fast “rules” linking coat color and personality.

Does our little Olwyn have “tortitude”? Well, I can say that for a cat of her tender age and tough background, she already displays considerable communication skills, and is quick to go after what she wants.

And equally quick at figuring out how to charm us into giving it to her.

This post was about how I chose our new kitten to fit into a family of two humans, and two Beta boys of widely varying age. Next up, handling Introductions. See all my Olwyn posts.

Got here from a Link or Search?
There’s more to choosing a cat with The Way of Cats than the article you are reading now. See my CHOOSING A CAT.