Still grieving at the death of my 15-year-old dog Jack, I was persuaded by a friend to stop by a pet supply shop that also holds periodic adoption events for an area shelter. They had had a cat showing that day but when we got there only one kitty remained un-adopted, probably because he was, perhaps, 6 or 7 years old while prospective parents preferred kittens. He was a very sweet cat, the proprietor explained, and seemed well-cared for having been neutered and seemingly at home among not only other cats but dogs of all sizes. I immediately felt sorry for the left-behind feline, the more so when I found him spread out on a shelf behind the cash register, clearly eager to be petted. It didn't take me long to decide we were meant for each other. Since then Jeeves--I named him that in light of his formal wear attire that reminded me of the storied manservant in P.G. Wodehouse's famous stories--has settled in nicely, following me from room to room and curling up on the bed by my side at night.