Not long before moving back to the US from the UK, I started the process or getting organised. It was a gradual process of selling stuff and packing. I already knew I had to get necessary paperwork for my three cats for the journey. But my Ms Doolittle radar attracted yet another waif to my door. It had been raining that day. When my SO came home that evening, he mentioned there was a cat in the front yard. Of course, I had to check it out. She was thin and her coat wasn’t in great condition. Soaked, meowing pathetically, it broke my heart to see her. Here we were, planning to move countries and I already had three cats. I closed the door, thinking she might belong to a neighbor and had just been left outside, but after a couple of minutes, I knew I couldn’t ignore her. From her condition, she was clearly asking for help. I brought her inside, put her in a box, and dried her with towels. I did keep the other cats away from her just in case. We decided to call her Pugsy because she had a cute, puggish face. She was a sweet cat clearly in distress. When I took her to the vet, it turned out she was an older cat with a respiratory ailment. I took good care of her and she settled in well. But when it came time to get the cats certified for the trip, the vet couldn’t certify Pugsy. I was heartbroken and frantic to find her good home. Fortunately, some older relatives of my SO took her in. I kept tabs on her after we left. A few months after we settled in, I checked up on her and learned that Pugsy had died. I was terribly upset, but after I was told she’d lived her last months in comfort and was able to enjoy her final days sleeping in the sun, I felt grateful that I was able to make a difference in Pugsy’s life. It was no coincidence that she came to my door.