Our new cat, Wheatley, was previously abandoned in some of the worst weather Colorado has ever had. We found him curled up in our bushes, cold, hungry and very scrawny with his fur badly tossled. He met me when I went outside to check the mail and was pounced on by an orange tabby who was in very bad shape.

In the next few weeks, we brought him inside, groomed him, and even brought him to the vet. His microchip said 'Ninja', and his family had moved five months ago to let their cat to care for himself in the middle of winter, and if that wasn't enough, nobody in our neighborhood gave him a second glance.

Over time, we gradually leash trained him, letting him wander around our house with us in tow, like a tiger exploring his territory.

One fateful day, we brought him outside for the first time since he had come into our home, he lay on the grass, soaking up the last rays of the afternoon sun. A car drove past, and my brother was holding the leash, completely unsuspecting of of what Wheatley did next. The car zoomed by and Wheatley jumped about five feet in the air and took off running, leash dragging behind him. Shocked, I stood there for a moment and took off running after him, my mom and brother in tow.

Tears streaming down my face, I called him name into the dark, my phone a feeble flashlight. A flash of red leash caught my eye from another yard. I ran into the yard and the beam of light from my phone caught an orange cat cowering in a corner, mewling. I ran over and picked him up, cooing into his ear, trying to get him to calm down.

When I finally brought him inside, the first thing he did was rub against my leg, just like he did the first time I saw him, and as he looked at me, traumatized and relieved to be home, and a single tear ran down his face.