I lost my dog to diabetes in February 2011. He had been young, and I was heartbroken. I fully expected to grieve for a long time before finding another furry friend.
Ingold had other plans.
That May, looking for the source of faint, piteous cries, I discovered a tiny gray ball of fluff under the lilac bush that sat right next to the street. He was so small he could curl up in my hand. The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew – what his name would be, that he belonged with us… and that I wasn’t ready.
When offered food, he approached us without fear, and as soon as his little belly was full, he was eager to be touched. When we brought him inside, he rubbed his face all over my hands, purring so hard he vibrated. He looked healthy, but too small, and too young, so I asked my husband to check around the neighborhood for posters and talk to the neighbors about who might be missing a kitten while I took him to the vet.
The vet aged the kitten at not more than seven weeks and suggested that he was probably dumped by the road (this was appallingly common in that area at the time, for older cats, too).
I took him home, not sure what to do with him. The kitten wasn’t fussed about it – he was much more interested in investigating the corners of my desk, or curling up inside my robe next to my ribs and purring like a little motor, or trying to befriend my husband’s older Siamese cat (who was very confused when he tried to nurse). When he crawled into the pocket of my robe and looked up at me, I knew that, ready or not, he was here to stay.
My husband was not surprised. He’d seen the look on my face in that first moment, and he knew that wherever Ingold had come from, he wasn’t going back there.
From the start, he has always been my boy.
Story submitted by an anonymous user from Seattle, Washington.
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