That’s a picture of my dad and his cat, taken while I was talking to him on our Echo device. The cat came into his life a year after my mom died, a stray that wandered onto the back porch of my cousin’s house on a cold January night, half dead, and not likely to make it another night in the elements. My dad was probably not long for this world either, lonely and depressed, without much reason to go on.
My cousin and his wife nursed her back to health, then called and asked my dad if he would take her. He did. She hid under the bed for the first three weeks, only emerging when she needed to eat or use the litter box. She must have finally decided he was not going to hurt her, and slowly crawled up onto the bed while he slept. Once the ice was broken, they became inseparable. She needed him and he needed her. They sort of saved each other.
My dad had had a cat in his life since he was a young boy. Our family had never been without. He and my mom had lost the last one just two months before she was diagnosed with cancer. They had decided not to get another because of their age and the circumstances. After she was gone, I had asked him several times if he wanted to find another, but really, he had never had to find a cat; the perfect cat had always found him. That’s usually the way with cats. They somehow just seem to know how to find their way to their rightful human.
They are still together today. They both have found their life purpose. He to care for her, she to care for him. Purpose doesn’t have to be huge, just significant to you, and maybe your cat.
Beautiful story.