To say I'm a cat-lover would be an understatement, I adore cats.
The first cat that I was owned by, came from a family of feral cats on my uncle's allotment.
A bundle of yellow fur, mum and I transported him home in my dolly's pram.
I had to hold him with one hand and push the pram with the other, when I arrived home, my arm was nothing short of a bloody mess, he did not take kindly to humans.
I didn't care, I had my cat.
We named him Brandy, he used up most of his nine lives, and lived to the age of nineteen.
Last year, I lost both of my dear cats to illness. I longed for another, yet despite that urge held off making the commitment.
I think I just needed down-time.
In the middle of winter sitting on the porch and enjoying the Christmas lights, I heard a faint "meow".
A small orange and white cat appeared out of nowhere. I gave him a treat, petted him endlessly, and smiled.
Those familiar feelings, made me feel whole again.
I didn't see him again until this week.
Out of the blue, same friendly greeting, only this time a grown cat. If he could speak "human", I dare say he his words would have been
" Hello, I'm back, remember me ?"He's been here for three days.
I think he may have a family, I'm going to ask around, if not I think I may have found my next cat, or he has found me....
I call him Oliver "Ollie" for short, he doesn't seem to mind, just as long as he gets petted, and there are plenty of treats.