I had 3 cats already. I called them my old ladies, since Maggie was 14 and Rosie and Sam were 10. I had no interest in getting another cat. Then on Halloween Eve I went to a party at a friend's house. There was a tuxedo kitten, probably 6-8 months, outside her door. He was obviously starving and the smell of the bar-be-que must have been driving him crazy as he sat at the door and yowled, trilled and cried. They kept trying to shoo him away, but he wasn't going anywhere. My friend told me some neighbors had recently moved and that is when the kitten started hanging around so we figured they had left him behind.
When I left, he followed me to my car, still yowling and making a funny little trilling type meow. I know it was the leftovers I was carrying. But something in me knew I couldn't leave him. He hadn't been alone long and I was afraid hunger and loneliness would drive him feral and he would never find a home. So I scooped him up and put him in my car. He rode on my shoulder the whole way home, purring in my ear. Once home, I left him in my enclosed porch and brought him some food that he inhaled like someone was going to take it from him. I made him a warm comfy bed out there and swore I would find him a home.
Two weeks later, after I'd had him checked out by a vet and neutered, my mother told me "You know you're going to keep him." and she was right. On her suggestion, I named him Roman the Second after my previous tuxedo male who went to the bridge in 2013. I call my new boy R2, and yes, that is totally a Star Wars reference. R2 has made himself right at home, he sleeps on my pillow at night and loves playing with his big sister Rosie. His little trilling meow makes me smile and I know I found him the right home after all.