When I first took him on, I really was unsure, I had one cat - Tibidabo, already. She was precious to me because she was the last link with my late partner. Why ever would I need the addition of another cat? But then, no one seemed willing to give him a new home.
He had had a somewhat difficult start in life; having been shot as a kitten, and although apparently recovered from that trauma, pellets can still be felt in his fur above his right eye. Also, how was I ever going to love a creature called "Stalker"? Since his last family broke up, his female companion had been re-homed, but poor Stalker had been shunted from one place to another. Then my daughter appealed to me to try to find him a home. She managed to get me a photograph of him which I duly showed around the office hoping that someone would find room in their home and hearts. My heart was still firmly locked against him.
Weeks of making no progress trying to find a new owner took a toll on my resolve, everyone I asked had seemingly legitimate reasons for not accepting him. I weakened and said that I would take him in.
Little did I imagine what would happen in the next weeks, months and years.
