When I was 13, we lived in Baton Rouge. During that time, I wanted many things, but the most of all wanted a cat.

I wasn’t picky on the matter. I didn’t care what kind or how old it was. I just I knew was I wanted one, and I wanted it desperately. I’d asked my parents multiple times but the answer was always the same, “We don’t have enough room.” I hated those infernal words. Yes, I knew our house was small and I knew cats needed wide open spaces. But still I couldn’t help dreaming about the day my parents would say yes.

I tried to console myself by volunteering at the local animal shelter during the summer, but that didn’t stop my dreaming. One day I would leave with one of the loveable cats. They were all so vibrant and full of personality. I couldn’t help but wish they all were mine. I had been working at the shelter for two summers now. In that time I had graduated from cleaning cages and feeding cats to training and showing them off for adoption. I loved my job. I was basically told to play with and teach kittens to become more social; then watch with pride as they got adopted. I always loved when one of my little sweethearts went to live with a loving family. I never cried and missed them because I knew they were living the good life now, a talent many of the other volunteers envied.

I never thought that one day I would be emotionally attached to one of the cats. That was until I met Komei. Komei and his sister, Kiera, came into my care one Thursday afternoon. The police had rescued them from an abusive home. Unfortunately, their mother didn’t survive the ordeal. It was my job to care for them, and make them friendlier and more adoptable. As soon as I saw their sweet faces, they pulled on my heartstrings. Komei was adorable with his big paws, clumsy playfulness and tabby markings, while aloof, quiet Kiera was beautiful in brown. They were irresistible and I was in love.

Through the months that followed, it was Komei who stole my heart. Kiera was great, but she was secretive and it was difficult to earn her trust. Komei apparently believed in second chances. After a week, he was mine. He would follow me to his death and then some. It was so much fun to watch him grow from a little, scared, gray thing to a big, bold, adventurous guy, well at least around me. He still drew back into his shell whenever a visitor came, but honestly that didn’t bother me. I was actually glad when he got passed over. It gave me more time to convince my parents to let me keep him.

This particular begging strategy started from the first day I got him. I constantly talked about how cute he was and how he was learning so fast. And I didn’t neglect to mention his loyalty to me either. Unfortunately my parents hadn’t taken the hint. After six weeks, I was still catless and he was still not adopted. My situation seemed hopeless, but there was one spark in the distance. My birthday was coming up soon and maybe if I asked for nothing else they would have no choice but to get me one, and I knew the one I wanted.

There was one more week until school and two more to my September birthday when a young couple came in with a four-year-old son. I had just finished with Komei and Kiera, so I was given the duty to show them around for adoption. They told me their story, how they had just moved here and how their son, Andy, had been upset ever since he’d left his friends. The logic was simple. Get him a pet and Andy would forget all about his friends. I suggested that they look at the dogs, since they were energetic, social and very good family pets, but they had their minds set on a kitten. It amazes me now that I wasn’t worried about Komei, but I guess I figured that he’d been rejected so many times that no young couple was going to adopt them for their boy. But then I was wrong.

We had almost gone though all the kittens and when I began to think this was a bad idea. They were all too rough, too loud, too scared, too big, too small or too something. I must admit that I didn’t really like the folks. I thought that they were over demanding and harsh. I couldn’t help feeling that they didn’t see the great things about these cats but only saw those problems and imperfections that every creature has. Nothing is perfect, whether it be cat, dog, person, or otherwise.

I was just about to give up on them when we came to Komei. I walked up and explained Komei’s situation and my doubts about his adoption. The look on the parents’ faces said no and I almost kept walking when their little boy came up to the bars. He put his finger in and my timid, little Komei came up and rubbed it. I couldn’t believe it he actually rubbed it. This gesture may seem like a small thing to non-cat people, but a cat rubbing his cheeks on something is a way of leaving his scent it and therefore marking it as their own. That little motion singled little Andy out as Komei’s choice owner.

I was stunned. How could this happen to me? How could the cat of my dreams simply slip though my fingers? How did a four-year-old boy deserve him more than I did? What had I done wrong? Though I hadn’t ever believed in fate before, I was sure fate had brought me Komei. But why then was fate taking him away? All I wanted was a cat and now that found the perfect one, it was gone. My dreams had been crushed just as quickly as they were formed.

The family took the kitten home next week, and this was the first time I ever cried at an adoption. I stayed at the shelter some of next year, and visited Kiera daily. She was out of my area now and living with the mature cats. Each time I saw her she reminded me so much of Komei. She was never as trusting but she did have his eyes and his purr. The kind of purr that says “I’m here and I waiting for you.” I forgot about Komei eventually. Some say wounds heal with time. Personally, I think it was mostly due to the fact that when we moved and finally got a cat of my own. She’s no Komei, but she’ll do. After all, nobody’s perfect.