Sandra Lee Adamson🌊

Last Saturday, I brought home two cats from the shelter. Two weeks earlier, I’d been halfway out the door with one when the cat in the next enclosure started calling. I’d gone in looking for one adult cat. I’d bought one bed and cleared one spot for it beside the couch. The orange tabby sat with his front paws tucked under him while I talked to the shelter worker. When I held my hand out, he leaned forward just far enough to rub his cheek against my knuckles. The gray cat next door was asleep. The worker told me they’d come in together, but the gray one had a wound on his back leg and needed to be kept separate while it healed. “Could he go home soon, too?” I asked. “He’s got another checkup in two weeks,” she said. I filled out the form for the orange cat. The worker got him into my carrier, and I was heading toward the lobby when she remembered she’d left my copy of the paperwork by the enclosures. We went back. She set the carrier down while she looked for it. That was when the gray cat called. I turned around and saw him with his nose against the bars. He called again, and the orange cat, who’d barely moved since we’d put him in the carrier, turned himself all the way around. He slid one paw through the door. It didn’t reach the other cat, so he shifted closer and tried again. The worker came back with my paperwork. I still hadn’t picked up the carrier.