These two cats are roughly the same age. The only difference I know of is that the big 15 pound hoss on the left was found when he was about eight weeks old, (a month after the little 9 pound guy on the right, who was an itty bitty four or so weeks old when we found him in our bushes.) So when we found Walnut, Momo was already eight weeks old and they were roughly the same size. There are a lot of unfixed cats, with new litters every year. I can think of two homes right now the road that seem to have new kittens every year, so it’s not even out of the realm of possibility that they are related, since I found them both in spitting distance from my home.
I suspect despite my best efforts with the kitten replacement milk, that those four weeks are a huge part of the reason for their size difference. 💜 I just hope Momo didn’t suffer any developmental issues with his organs. Heart problems are already very common in cats, and is what took at least two of my last the kitties. As any cat lover can attest to, loving cats is a crapshoot. You never know how long you have with them. Not three months before we found the first of the kittens, we had adopted Newt from our local shelter, through Petsense. Initially she was sweet but very…bitey. Easily overstimulated. My poor kid was in tears because she got mauled every time she tried to love the cat. But when Momo came to live with us, that changed a lot. Newt took to “motherhood” with gusto, alternately grooming the little guy and kicking the crap out of him, and Walnut fit right into the little family when he came along. It was like suddenly, she had a place for all her…excess energy. They all love one another.
And the really cool thing about these cats is they each seen to have at least part of the personality of our last three. Walnut is the most like my beloved Methos. He’s big and pushy, super loveable, and delightfully weird. He’s figured out how to work the ice dispenser on the fridge and he plays fetch with the ice. Momo is my standoffish, skittish little puker, like our Bengal, Chloe, was. We had her nine years, from the time she was 3 years old, and she only really started to chill out enough to seek out our company in the last 3 years of her life (she’d had a rough start to life, passing between several owners, one of which had declawed her, to my horror). And much to my constant irritation, she was forever looking for the most inconvenient place to puke…like the Playstation for example. And Newt, the oldest, the one adopted from our local Petsense, is the most like Evangeline, my first cat as an adult living on my own. I lovingly refer to her as “my old lady cat.” You know, grouchy but dignified and generally loveable. Each of these new cats have brought joy to our lives, and having then around has been like having a little bit of our dearly departed kitties still in our daily lives. Sometimes I say it’s like we got the same three cats, only reincarnated. I’m half joking but it’s a comforting thought. Either way, I love them for both who they are and who they might be.