Once Nathan Alan Willoughby finished exploring Edie's apartment, he walked over to her. She patted his head, "You're a good cat. You seem to like the place." She walked into the kitchen and put a bowl on the floor. "Here's your water. Now, where did I put that cat food."
"Food" was a word Nathan Alan Willoughby knew well. It meant something delicious. At the Westwood Rescue for Good Cats, that word was followed up with tiny bowls of canned cat food or tuna, a daily treat to supplement the dry food that was always sitting around. Edie scooped out some food from a green bag, "one-third scoop, twice a day," she said as she put the kibble in front of him. Hmmm...this wasn't what he expected. He looked back at her. "Sorry, my little friend, but you need to lose some weight."
Nathan Alan Willoughby looked back at the food. Maybe it wasn't so important. He was away from those other bossy cats at the rescue and Edie paid more attention to him than the volunteers ever did.
Edie sat on the floor. He walked over to her and bumped his head against her outstretched hand, "We'll get along just fine, you and me. I sure need a friend now." She sighed and gathered his nearly twenty pound frame onto her lap. He began to purr. This is what he'd wanted. He didn't know it at the time that this is what it was that he wanted, he only knew he wanted more than what he had. Surely, there was something more, and now he was experiencing it.
He continued to purr and closed his eyes. He was so warm. He felt so safe. Edie breathed into the back of his neck, "I'm never letting you go. Not ever."
Nathan Alan Willoughby hoped this was true.
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