Whiskers had been at the nursing home for as long as anyone could remember. The staff swore he’d just appeared one day, strolling in like he belonged. He was picky about people, barely tolerating most of us. But with Mr. Delano? It was different.
Every morning, Whiskers would climb onto Mr. Delano’s lap, curling up as the old man stroked his fur with shaky hands. They had a routine—gentle pets, soft whispers, moments of quiet understanding. No one could explain why, but they were inseparable.
Then, one evening, Mr. Delano passed away in his sleep.
The next morning, we expected Whiskers to be by the window, waiting for him. Instead, we found him curled up on Mr. Delano’s empty bed, paws tucked under his chin, eyes half-closed. He didn’t move all day.
That night, as we were packing up Mr. Delano’s few belongings, one of the nurses gasped.
She had found an old photograph tucked inside his drawer.
It was a much younger Mr. Delano, smiling, holding a small black-and-white kitten in his arms.
On the back, scribbled in faded ink, were just four words:
“My boy, always waiting.”
I looked at Whiskers, still curled on the bed, and my breath caught in my throat.
Could it really be…?
Whiskers had been at the nursing home for as long as anyone could remember. He was picky with people but had a special bond with Mr. Delano, who would gently pet him each morning. When Mr. Delano passed away, Whiskers curled up on his empty bed, grieving.
The next day, while packing Mr. Delano’s belongings, a nurse found an old photo of a young Mr. Delano holding a kitten—Whiskers. The note on the back read, “My boy, always waiting.” Whiskers, it seemed, had been waiting for him all along.
Days later, Whiskers led me to the front door where a young man, Daniel, stood. He recognized Whiskers immediately from a childhood photo of himself with a kitten. Daniel explained the cat had belonged to his grandfather, Mr. Delano. Whiskers seemed at peace, finding his long-lost companion.
That night, Daniel stayed with Whiskers, and when he left, Whiskers followed him. “Are you taking him?” I asked. Daniel smiled, “If he’ll have me.” And just like that, Whiskers had a new home.
Love, it seems, never truly leaves; it just waits to be found.
