A little over a year ago, one of my co-workers brought in a small kitten that she had found on the streets on her way in to work. She planned on taking him to a shelter on her way home. He was a tiny ball of fluff, completely covered in fleas and had no intention of staying in a small cubical when there was an entire building to explore. After watching him escape three times, I ran with him down the hall talking to him the entire time. When we had gotten to a turn, I made a u-turn and started running back to my co-worker's cubical, calling to him. He followed and ran with me, until I stopped, and then he ran straight into my arms. I told my co-worker that I would keep him in my office since I had a door.
As I walked away with him, she said that I was going to end up taking him home, but I didn't know how my thirteen-year-old cat would take to a kitten. Still, my co-worker decided not to take the kitten to the shelter. She brought him back the next day, which he spent in my office, sleeping on my desk, on my keyboard and in my arms. By the end of the second day, I finally admitted what she had known all along. He was coming home with me. I namedl him Oliver (Ollie for short) after Oliver Twist, since he was found on the streets, not to mention he has two spots on his body which resemble an exclamation mark, which I thought was reminiscent of the musical Oliver! He has brought life back into my older cat and is such a snuggle bug. I can't even remember what life was like without him.