About five years ago, when our kitten was a little under a year, my brother looked out of the window one day and saw a ginger kitty sitting on the driveway. He assumed it was ours, and that he had somehow gotten out. However, upon opening the front door, the kitten ran in and we discovered that he wasn't ours. We didn't know where he'd come from, or if he had a family, so we put up posters the next day to say we'd found him. We had him for three or four days and my brother fell in love with him. Unfortunately for us, and fortunately for him, his owners called up to see if he was their cat, and he was. We learned that he was about six months and had somehow come across a main road to end up outside our house. He was gone within an hour and it broke my brother's heart.
A couple of months later, a friend of my mum's asked if we'd like another ginger cat. She was moving house and didn't want him to attack her older cat, in case she got scared off. So we took him in. It was like it was meant to be. He was the spitting image of the kitten we'd looked after. His name was Larry. When he first came to us, he had a ton of abandonment issues, and he couldn't be left alone. He'd been found in a box as a baby and was about a year and half old when we got him.
We've now had him for about five years, and he's been treasured and given about a million nicknames, mainly Stumpy, because of his little legs. He's easily my brother's cat, but now that my brother's at uni most of the time, he's getting closer to the rest of us - he'll even come for cuddles sometimes! Needless to say, I love my Baby Bear.
Kent, United Kingdom
