Welcome to your forever home, floofy dude.
The last time I owned a cat was when I lived in the US, so that’s 2004 and earlier. While in the UK, I’ve co-owned goldfish and a dog, and became a farm cat’s human. They’re all gone now, and after the farm cat passed away this past July, I’ve felt a ragged hole in my heart.
I’ve always had animals in my life. I grew up with pet mice, dogs, fish, cats, and then in adulthood had many more cats, a couple of dogs, numerous ferrets, and rabbits. I volunteered for a big cat sanctuary (which included – literally – lions and tigers and bears, not to mention cows, a camel, pigs, foxes… you get the idea) for many years.
Animals have been a constant for me. Part of me was ok with the non-animal years (I had plenty of turbulent stuff going on), and part of me felt an emptiness. I wasn’t even aware of how deep that emptiness was until the farm cat died. He wasn’t my cat, but lived on the same property we did, was known for being a bit of a dick, and then bonded with me during the early pandemic months as I sat outside during isolation. His death broke me.
That farm cat was an old boy, and I promised him that the next cat in my life would be another older cat, a rescue, and I’d give him or her a beautiful life.
So, here he is. We’ll have updates soon.