I never in my life thought I would have a cat. I'm not a cat person. And OCD me couldn't imagine letting an animal roam around my house. But Charlie had other ideas.
He showed up a few weeks ago, purring at us whenever we left the house. He charmed us from the start. I worried about where he was from and where he would go. He was obviously a pet turned stray. I noticed he hung around next door a lot, so we went over and asked the neighbors about him.
It turns out, he belonged to our neighbor's mother, who had lived around the corner from us. She was recently put in a nursing home, and her other son (who lived with her) decided he didn't want the cat anymore. So our neighbors had set up food and a bed in their garage until they decided what to do. (Their cat died a month or so ago, and they had promised their kids a dog.)
I still didn't want a cat. But I found myself putting a water dish on my front porch for him. I found myself going out several times a day to pet him. I found myself checking out the windows regularly to make sure he was there and he was okay. When I came outside, he began walking to the door and staring inside. He seemed to want to come in and live with us.
Turns out, I've gotten very attached to little Charlie. He's about 16 years old, and according the the vet today, he only has two teeth. Getting him into the carrier was not something I'm looking forward to again, but we made out okay. He was a trooper, even through two shots and a stool sample. He's doing well for a cat his age, so knock wood, he will be with us for a while.
Now that he's been to the vet, I've finally adopted him for real and let him come inside! He seems to be settling in fine. I'm resisting the urge to follow him around constantly. I have to learn to give up some control, and let him explore a little.
But for now, it's been a big day for us both. He's found a nice place for a nap.
I think I'll go join him.