Cats came first.
Before the rescue, before the coffee, before I learned how many ways a person can say “I’m just looking” while already halfway committed, I decided I wanted a cat. Not a symbol. Not a hobby. A warm, opinionated animal in the room that would make the apartment feel less like a waiting area.
Once that decision existed, everything else followed in the practical way I like to pretend I run my life. I looked for the responsible path instead of the impulsive one, which is how I found Catty Corner Rescue. A small-town rescue with cats out during the day, managed and safe at night, and just enough coffee and human calm up front to make you forget you’re standing in the middle of other people’s hard endings.
This category is the container for the ongoing series that follows, in order, as I go from wanting a cat, to visiting the rescue, to bringing one home, to showing up often enough that I stop being a visitor and become part of the place.
It’s one viewpoint. The rescue holds because it’s one place with an ongoing life. Nothing gets reset just because a story ends. Same place, same people, and a steady rotation of cats and strangers who walk in acting casual while their faces give them away. The cats change, the visitors change, but the rescue stays the rescue, and I keep showing up to watch it happen.
Hard to tell when it becomes your life.
Probably right around the moment you stop saying you’re just there for the coffee.
