Mistaken identity ...

We were wrong about Orin, black and white with an oversized soul patch. He was miscast as the cuddly little bugger. Well-behaved. A foil to Hal, reckless and unpredictable, a true athlete, a blur of grey and greenish stripes who has no time for ear scratching and baby talk.

Orin is actually an evil genius.  A cuddly evil genius, yes. But an evil genius nonetheless.

If, for instance, you were settling in to bed and heard repeated crashes from downstairs, it would be Orin who has found a way onto the window sill via office chair then cabinet, has been playing paw-tennis with a 6-inch plastic dinosaur and an All Star Wrestler figurine. It means that Orin is now hiding behind an aloe plant, looking like an old-timey portrait of a dignitary, a single flick from sending the aloe plant crashing to the floor. That look on his face: thinly veiled sarcasm.

If, for instance, you were reading and the door busted open and Hal came sprinting into the bedroom, he's just running decoy. It's Orin who slinks in on tiptoes amid the chaos, slinks beneath the bed.

I assumed that one of the kitties would take lead in the relationship, but at this point they seem to be equal partners in crime. Which is to say that when they collide in mid-air, fall to the earth spinning, then perform three double-somersaults, nipping at each other's faces -- like they do every waking minute -- it's requited. Sometimes Hal chases Orin from the top of the house, down two flights of steps to the basement; Sometimes Orin chases Hal. Sometimes Hal boxes out Orin at the food trough; Sometimes Orin gets his face low and in the bowl and stretches his shoulders all wide-like.

I've only ever seen Orin leap off a box, though, furry arms extended, land on Hal's back and ride him around the living room. Orin also tries to nurse off of Hal's stomach and deigns to clean his buddies ears and asshole. Hal likes to nuzzle Orin's neck, though. These two are just drenched with each other's saliva.

There is something about owning two kittens that makes everything seem like it should end with an exclamation point.

It's easy to see where this is all going. Orin, in five years, a doughy slacker with a philosophy major and ill-fitting Atari T-shirts. It's the power of the soul patch. Hal, meanwhile, is going to stay lean and mean, our champion mouser shrugging off rabid recruiters from rodent infested mansions.