Owen is not the easiest cat to live with, especially since his brother, Jack, passed away a couple years ago. He overeats and then throws up on the carpet.
He is awake at night, just waiting for the right moment to pounce upon us.
He eats wool and prefers cashmere.
He loses his mind from time to time and turns the second floor into a battle ground, running from room to room like a maniac and throwing his twenty pound body around like a self-flagellating rag doll.
But my daughter, Clara, loves Owen, and despite the constant abuse that he takes at the hands of my not-so-gentle little one, he treats her with kindness and tolerance.
It’s probably the only thing preventing my wife from throwing him out the window at times.
And it’s moments like this when all the middle-of-the-night, meowing vomit-fests seem almost worth it: