Cats die. Their life spans are shorter than those of humans. So if you ever get a cat, it is likely to die in your lifetime.
I like to adopt old cats from the pound. They are the most in need of help and comfort. Imagine a pound like a medieval dungeon or an asylum. Imagine all the ways life had to screw you over for you to get in there. Sure, maybe you did something wrong. But most of the time, you are just there because life dealt you a raw deal. Bad luck. That’s how you ended up at the pound.
And the longer you are there, the less likely you are to ever find an escape from this prison.
The young kittens and puppies get adopted first. No one wants to see a child in jail. But an adult in jail. Well they must be there for a reason, right? The older you are the longer you stay. The odds slowly stacking up against you.
As an animal in a pound, you have no rights or freedoms that can set you free. You are helpless to change your situation. At the mercy of fate. Longer and longer. Less and less hope. Closer and closer to euthanization. Waiting. Closer and closer to ending your life in jail. Alone. Unloved. Despair. Darkness. More and more likely for death to claim you with no one to care that you lived.
Unless your luck turns around. Unless by some statistical unlikelihood you get adopted. Unless someone sees you…and wants to love you.
That’s why I adopt old cats. I know that many cats are going to die in my lifetime. I want as many of them as possible to have been loved.