My dad was alergic to pets with fur, and mom thought birds were dirty, so my sister and I were limited to fish, dime-store turtles, and the "cameleons" you could buy from vendors at parades. I guess I was part owner in these, but my sister was more interested in them than me, and still has a small tortise. My first pet that I thought of as MINE was a kitten I adopted after I had moved out on my own at the age of 28. I got him from the Humane Society, he was four months old, solid black, and I loved and spoiled him. He also drove me nuts with his kitten energy and his desire to play during the night. His favorite toy was plastic discs made to stuff a pair of socks through to keep them matched in the wash. They were small, light, slightly bent out of shape from my kneesocks, and round so they rolled. Fortunatly for me, he figurured out that if he brought it to me I would throw it more often. So when I was just falling assleep at night and he would drop a toy in my face, I could just lay there and throw it until he tired of playing fetch, and then I could sleep. He eventually graduated to milkbottle rings and plumbing washers, and I learned to make the rounds of all the furniture and large appliances once a week with a yardstick to retrieve them.