The Cats
Who Own Me

He was the largest of four black kittens found in an abandoned car in Omaha, Nebraska. A rescuer brought the kittens downtown, where we met them and also met a remarkable woman named Connie Davis. An expert cat-rescuer, she nursed the kittens back to health and socialized them well, before handing them over to us.

One kitten was the most gregarious, so he was the first to need a name. Connie and her son named him Jackson (Jack for short), after the location where we'd all met: Jackson Street. She also made us a little photo album of the kittens' early weeks, and birthday cards, which is where I got these pictures:

	The four kitties glommed together like a single organism.
	Jackson looks up at the camera as his three siblings kick back for a buggy ride.
	Jackson at 3 months having a happy birthday!

The other kitties acquired names: Angel, Moon, and Emma. Jackson enjoyed pouncing on them frequently. He's turned out to be a charming troublemaker who generally wreaks havoc. Since he takes more attention than the other three put together, they remained at their happy home in Omaha while Jackson was sent off to live in the big city with me.

He likes to climb things. I think he's plotting to climb the Empire State Building and swat at planes.

He's talkative and has angular features (what the experts call a "foreign" face shape), so he may be partly Siamese. As my other part-Siamese took to the leash, I've been trying to take him out walking on a leash. He seems to like it -- until a car drives by.

Since he has a healthy distrust of cars, I've been trying to interest him in bikes (and bikers):

	I've let the cat out of the (messenger) bag.
	Pouncing on visitors is a favorite hobby.

Two of his siblings (aged 1 year, 3 months) came to visit:

Emerging from their carriers.

Only my niece Callia (at age two) has enough energy to keep up with him. She's become adept with cat toys.