When Chelsea died, I was about a month away from moving from Shawnee, Ks. to Mesa, AZ. I had worried about Chelsea surviving the long trip and I would have felt worse had she died en route instead of dying at when she did. It was never a question of getting another cat, it was just a question of when. I decided I would wait until I moved to get one. I also worried because Chelsea and Maynard were my babies and even if I'd wanted to replace them, I couldn't. And, you never know what you'll get. I also wasn't sure if I wanted to raise another kitten.
It turned out that none of that mattered. God had other plans for me (as usual). On August 17, 2001, I was taking a walk around the apartment complex I lived in. It was hot out, but I was trying to be consistent in my efforts to stay healthy and keep my blood sugar down. I was on the other side of the complex when I saw ahead of me a boy riding his bicycle around the parking lot. That in itself wasn't very interesting, but I saw a gray tabby following him. Somehow, I knew at that moment that the kid was going to ask me if I wanted a cat. I was thinking I didn't want one yet, I wanted to get moved and settled in before I got a cat. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to bring a cat to my home and then move it to thousands of miles away a month later.
Sure enough, the boy was looking for a home for the cat. She'd been living outdoors for who knows how long. I asked him if someone had left her behind, he said she had, but he also made some comments that made me think that she'd probably been his cat and he couldn't keep her. I hemmed and hawed, but couldn't get "no" out of my mouth. He picked up the cat and started telling me how sweet the cat is and she didn't have a home and he couldn't bring himself to have her put down because she was such a great cat (he wasn't b.s.'ing me, either). The boy obviously loves cats and wanted to find a home for this cat instead of letting her continue to live outside and fight the elements.
