A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend had this foster cat who needed a place. He was an old boy who was unlikely to get a real new home without a favour being called in. He was an orange floof called Goldie who was around eleven or so, and he gave me a special year before the rainbow bridge called him.
After two or three months of missing him, I went to my local SPCA to just sit in the cat room and have cat-love around me. They were running a “meet your Valentine” event, so I expected few cats and a busy time. There were quite a few kittens. The adult cat room seemed far emptier than usual but still comforting.
I went with a friend to make sure I didn’t get too caught up in the cuteness so that any decision I made would have someone not tempered by lost-cat feels. We sat, we pet, we played, and I felt better.
Then, a fuzzy monster snuck out from where he’d been watching and came to savage the toy I offered. He played for a few minutes before exhausting himself. I expected him to run back to his hiding place now that he’d defeated his foe, but he didn’t.
Quickly, he scrambled up the couch, and in a fine move of fluid cattidity, he wedged himself between me and the cushions where he promptly fell asleep. Startled, I looked at my friend.
Friend: “You weren’t aiming to get a cat today, right?”
Me: “No.”
We both looked at the sleeping cat.
One of the staff members walked by.
Staff Member: “Awww! That’s adorable. He hasn’t done that with anyone else. He has been playing with people, but no one’s really been allowed to touch him.”
No prizes for guessing who is sleeping nearby as I write this ten years later. How could I not? He just knew he had the right human. Even now, his favourite place to sleep is right near me, as close as he can.