I first saw him outside the 24-hour laundromat, lying on a worn-out camping mat, with a small orange cat—missing half an ear—resting on his chest. Life had clearly been tough on him: duct-taped shoes, a trash bag for a backpack. I started bringing them scraps from the café where I worked—an extra muffin, soup, even a leftover grilled cheese.
He never asked for anything and always made sure the cat, Hazel, ate first. One night, I asked about her. “She chose me,” he said softly. He shared bits of his story—his family gone, shelters off-limits because of Hazel, so he stayed on the street. “She’s my reason,” he whispered.
Then one week, he disappeared. No sign of him or Hazel. Days later, I found Hazel alone, thinner and tired, waiting by the bus stop. I took her in, cared for her, but no one knew what happened to him.
Weeks passed. Hazel adjusted but always perked up near the laundromat. Then June, a regular told me the man’s name was Martin and that he’d collapsed near the train tracks. At the hospital, Martin was in a coma. I told him Hazel was safe. After three days, he woke up, the first word: “Hazel?”
When Hazel was brought to the hospital, she immediately curled up beside him. Tears fell as they reunited.
Martin slowly recovered. I helped him get transitional housing—a small apartment where Hazel ruled. One day, a woman came looking for Martin—his niece. They reunited after years apart.
Now, Martin volunteers at the shelter that once turned him away because of Hazel. The shelter changed its pet policy after hearing their story.
Hazel still rules their home, and I still bring muffins and sit with her.
Sometimes, a small kindness—like sharing a grilled cheese—can change everything. Because one cat chose one man, and he never stopped choosing her back.
We all have the power to be someone’s reason to keep going. Sometimes, it just takes being chosen.
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