In 2008, when the security guards told me that someone had dumped a cat in the office parking lot, I searched for two days before I found him...and fed him my tuna sandwich. Every day before work, on my lunch break, and before I drove away for the day, I'd sit with George at the edge of the parking lot, on the walking path in the field. It took many months, and several different humane traps, to finally transport George to the veterinarian, and to his forever home. A whole group of co-workers and very friendly neighbors (P & M, you know who you are!) donated food, money, and/or their time to making sure George was cared for. Sadly, George's family discovered that he was very sick, and last week, they showed their love for him by helping him discard his damaged body. He had six good years with them, especially R with whom he was closely bonded.
I cried when P and I delivered George to his new family, and I cried when I heard the news that he was gone. We never knew if he was a stray or someones pet, but he had love and family, and I am so grateful for that.
George was named for the security guard who kept insisting that I name the cat, instead of saying 'the cat'. I did not WANT to name him, because I foolishly believed I could stay unemotional that way. HAH! Finally, George the security guard demanded a name, so I said "He's George Junior, after you!" Also, George the cat was polydactyl, at least on his front paws. The top two photos were taken when George first arrived in the parking lot; the next two were when George and I romped together, and the last one was sent by his humans after he'd settled in.
Purrs to R and the family