There are so many kennels at the animal shelter and so many cats. It was hard to decide where to look. So that Sunday, after searching many a cat kennel, I reverted to my childhood trick of choosing things from my lucky number, 8. I opened kennel 8 and there he was – all green eyes, black fur, and sass. We locked eyes and he meowed at me like, “Hey, what took you so long?” He walked out onto my bent knee, front paws on my shoulder, into my arms. I was a goner.
I didn’t know much about cats. I didn’t really know how to entertain him. Dogs are so obvious about what they need. This little guy was far too skinny and his neck was raw from where a too-tight collar had rubbed him bald. But he was latched onto my arm like a koala and he grabbed tighter whenever I moved to put him down. I decided I could figure it out. I stayed at the shelter for an hour. Left. Came back 20 minutes later to see him again. Left at closing time. I vowed to think it out over a couple of days, but the thought that he would be adopted by someone else or put down was enough to expedite the process.
I took a half-day off of work the next day and set up my home with cat toys galore (all of which he continues to ignore, but loves my hair ties and couch corner). I went back for him, relieved to find him snoozing in kennel 8. Over six months later, and I’m still grateful to find him snoozing at home.
I can’t say for certain if Gus is the exact cause of the good fortune I’ve experienced since adopting him. But there is a magic to cats, just as there is to all things. He is a peaceful little animal who loves watching thunderstorms and snuggling. I am fascinated with him. I am happy that we found each other.
I didn’t know how much I could love a cat. I know now.
Story submitted by Katie Marshall from Greensboro, North Carolina.
This story was originally shared on The Animal Rescue Site. Share your very own rescue story here!