My wife and I had been considering getting a cat, but it was a consideration that had reached the stage of “Maybe in a couple of months – after we have settled in and found places for everything – we will look for a cat.”
It was at this stage when Emily and I were adopted. By this handsome fellow:
We arrived home one night to find him mewing insistently at us, as though he were asking us: “Where have you been, where is my food, and why have I not been petted?”
Emily went back out to take care of the food situation while I looked him over for injuries. (While petting him, of course) We settled him in the backyard on a mound of towels with food and water bowls nearby, and we went to bed, wondering if he’d be there the next day.
He was, having apparently decided he rather liked this land and the people thereon, and that he would keep them. Later that morning, he pounced on another cat for invading his territory, and before claws or teeth were used on either side, the other cat decided he wanted none of this and jumped the fence quickly.
At this point, having determined that he was a talker, an eater and a fighter, we named him Sokka. The 12 day waiting period after reporting we’d found him and before we could claim him as our cat was harrowing. He managed to endear himself to us faster than I would have thought possible and is the second biggest reason I look forward to getting home at the end of the day.