Previous | Heartwarming Stories | Next		Ben he odds of a FIV+ cat finding a happy home would be slim, and thus finding a happy home for Ben (now named Henry) would be a tall order. However, with a lot of luck and perseverance, we finally found one for him, and his new family recently wrote back to us, telling us how Henry had captured their hearts...
		Henry is the latest addition to my family (of five cats, two dogs, two children and a wonderful husband.) I feel that Henry choose me. Through many intense and loving relationships with cats, I was never chosen by a cat, not until Henry chose me.     I am grateful that Sharon Clark, of the Paw’d Squad rescued Henry. He had been hanging out at a convalescent home in Alhambra, CA. The management was planning to exterminate all the cats on the property, one of the residents that had been feeding the cats called the Paw’d Squad. They came and trapped the cats. Many other groups would have euthanized Henry, because he tested positive for FIV—but Sharon was well-informed and knew that FIV does not have to be a death sentence for a cat.     Henry is a large, green eyed Tabby. His affectionate nature quickly became apparent and Sharon added him to the population of their shelter. He lived there for a year and ½ with 80 to 100 other cats, keeping peace with all of them. Henry is a true pacifist. Unassuming and avoiding all conflict. Because of his mild personality, it is very unlikely that Henry would ever infect another cat. According to Dr. Peterson, director of the small animal department at UC Davis veterinary school, the only way for a cat to transmit FIV is through a deep bite wound—and this is an injury that veterinarians rarely see in any cat but UN-NEUTERED stray males.     The first time I visited the Paw’d Squad, Henry planted himself squarely in my lap. The second time, I wondered if I would see him again. I sat in a pile of about 15 cats, when our eyes met. I knew it was him, so I called out his name. His face lit up, but then he looked cautiously behind him, as though to confirm that I wasn’t calling some other cat. I assured him that I was calling him. With weathered optimism he approached and found his way right back into the center of my lap, where he curled up, purring and gazing at me with an invocation for love.     I thought about him for weeks. Then I returned a third time, when I entered the shelter, I called his name and he came bounding in immediately from the other room. That is when I felt it unequivocally. This cat had chosen me. His headbutts and purring, his direct gaze and the sheer expressiveness of his whole body assured me that I was right. Henry and I belonged together.    My husband had already laid down the law. No more than four cats. Period. What would it take to convince him? I offered all sorts of intimate favors. But nothing was worth a fifth cat to him. Finally, I asked him, “What will it take?”     “Well, there is that motorcycle that picked me.”    A $15,000 motorcycle that I had absolutely forbad him to consider. We don’t have the kind of money to afford that sort of toy. But this was the bargain that I had asked for. “You can take it out of the house sale money.”     And so we spent $15,000 to bring home a neutered tomcat tabby, with tattered ears and a scarred nose from his pre-pacifist days on the street. And my husband got his dream motorcycle.     Henry was worth every penny. When I returned to the Paw’d Squad to ask him if he wanted to come home with me, he gave me and incredibly forceful headbutt on the chin. On several other occasions, he has displayed an uncanny ability to understand English. He is the most affectionate lap cat that I have ever had the privilege of loving.     He has settled in well with my other four cats, joining their games, eating side by side. But most of all, he is my special boy. When I call him from another room, he responds immediately, trotting toward me with a sweet face so expectant and hopeful, just longing to be loved. He is healthy and strong—and I expect to be loving him for at least another ten years—if not more.     When I asked my husband what it would take to bring home a sixth cat, he answered, "A Maserati."