When I was full force in saving the cats of the world neighborhood, I took note of many gems from The Universe.

One being: I think cats must be extra terrestrials running this show and they are here to guide us. Okay, so a little heavy on the ET front, but, I do hold firm to cats being masters sent here to guide us along our journeys. I will make that a general statement for all the beasts roaming this Earth.

I bow down to them. They are obvs way more in the know than me and I’ve never seen a stressed out animal. Even all the ones I’ve rescued in some dire straights, really, seemed quite content to be starving. I mean, way more content than I would be.

My favorite part of rescuing animals is matching them up to an owner. I trust that somehow, it’s the perfect match {don’t worry, I do my due diligence on background}. Every person who showed up to adopt one of the cats, was really a perfect match.

It just worked. Oh the flood of happiness to watch families walk off thrilled and children’s eyes lighting up with animal love excitement.

My favorite cat owner was A. I know I probs shouldn’t have a fave, but I do. A had contacted me via email and I left him a couple messages, only to receive radio silence for a few days. I forgot about him and moved on, figuring he had changed his mind.

He ended up calling eventually and was relieved to hear the cat he was originally interested in was still available. I was more relieved because this was one of the adult females and I thought it would be harder to get her adopted before all the kittens.

Now to back up — I actually thought A was a she, not a he. He had a woman’s voice on the phone but he sounded guy-like in his emails. I was so confused. Confused to the point that I decided A was most definitely a she, until he showed up on my doorstep.

All four and a half feet of him.

You know when you’re shocked but you feel like you can’t stare — that what you were expecting was nothing remotely close to what is standing in front of you? So you try to over compensate and pretend that it’s all cool. I’m sure he saw through that bullshit. He’s probably been dealing with that his whole life.

Anyway, A was awesome. He was hilarious and we had some great conversations {I never got to the bottom of his “disability” as he referred to it but I think something hormonal/growth related} as we were both trying to coax the cat out of garage hiding. He was thrilled to have found what he deemed, the right cat for me. I just knew when I saw her picture. Does that ever happen to you, you just know?

Yes. I know.

As I was helping A get the cat carrier into his car, I noticied his shirt. I’m surprised it hadn’t caught my eye earlier. In big, bold, captialized letters was written: PROUD TO BE ME.

I keep thinking about A. How together he was. How his own person he was. How unapologetic he was about who he was. There was strength and security there. Inner traits that you cannot fake.

He made me question, just how proud am I to be me? And why am I not always proud to be me? Work in progress always, People.