My first pet as an adult was Charlie, the cat. Shawna and I had been married for a few years and decided we needed a "real" pet (not a rodent). We went to the humane society and chose an older cat no one wanted. Kittens are adorable, and so are always the first to be adopted. I remember being nervous as they interviewed us to ensure we qualified as responsible owners. My wife had cats and dogs growing up, which helped our cause. Anyway, despite my anxiety, we were allowed to bring Charlie home.
I loved that cat. She was so calm and easygoing. I loved how she would jump up on me when I lay down. She would gently knead my chest with her paws for a couple minutes, then curl up and settle down. I could feel her purr against my heart. It was such a soothing sound. Charlie was the closest I have ever had to a therapy pet.
Then we got Sam. He was a rescued kitten. He was fun and a ball of energy and would cackle when excited. Unfortunately, he never really settled like Charlie did. He also was not as calm or cuddly. Later on, he developed a nasty habit of marking his territory. The smell was disgusting, so Sam became a source of anxiety. He was not affectionate with the kids and never let you pat him for any length of time. Sam lived a very long life. In the end, he looked like a zombie with skin and bones. Then, one day, he curled up in the shade beneath a table outside, closed his eyes and passed away. He didn't seem to be in any pain. Sam just knew his time had come. I hope I can do the same.
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