Two days ago I had the scare of my life. I recently adopted a cat from Foreacre Fosters; a BEAutiful grey striped tabby named Charisma, and love her dearly. She’s my emotional support animal, and she loves her job. I went out into the street the other day and saw this:
I literally thought that was my cat, and panicked a little; checking my cameras to see if she got out, asking my roommate if he seen her, throwing furniture around checking for her, the works. I was crying calling out for her name and was in denial about that being my cat dead out in the street. And I just heard a trill, looked forward, and saw her in my dresser. I fell down to my knees, and cried. And then I held her in my arms, crying, happy to see her alive and well. Well, as well as she could be in a grown man’s arms crying like a baby. I then called the PSPCA to see if they could help give the other one a proper burial. My roommate picked what was left of the other cat off the street and they picked her up and cremated her. I felt like this whole scare was a lesson to truly appreciate what you have, before it’s gone. As life comes and go, you never know when it would end..
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