I’m moving soon, and my heart is torn. For the past three years, I’ve shared my life with a beautiful stray I call Big Guy—others know him as Birdie, because, well, he has a thing for catching birds. He’s not technically my cat, but he’s been a constant companion. He was already living here when I moved in, and according to the neighbors, he’s been around this apartment complex for over 8 years.
Everyone says he never let anyone touch him—until me. Somehow, we built a bond. Now he’s like family. He naps on my patio furniture, walks with me and my dogs, and greets me at my car no matter how far he is. He runs to me through storms, fireworks, lawnmowers—this brave little soul always comes home to me.
Every day, he steps inside to nap, snack, play with the dogs, and get his well-earned head scratches. But now that I’m buying my first house, I don’t know what to do. A part of me wants to bring him, to make sure he’s safe. But another part says this is his home. He made this place his own long before I ever arrived. And maybe, just maybe, I was only ever meant to be his friend while I was here.