Wildlife
He Chose My Lap—And Found His Forever Home
HA
By haphuong10050208Published: 09/02/2026 18:17| 0 Comments
He was overlooked for months—until he chose me.
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I volunteer at a local cat shelter. They have a room for senior cats (any cat over 6). One day I was volunteering, and a cat I had never seen came out while I was sitting on the floor. He crawled right into my lap.
When I told other staff, they thought I had the wrong cat in mind. They said that Gideon had never approached anyone before, let alone got into their lap.
Our records showed that he had been bounced around shelters in the south following the deadly hurricane Ida. After failed years in shelters, he was flown into our rescue. He went by unnoticed for 4 months before he came to me.
He was originally listed in shelter records as a cat who had been surrendered as unwanted just after the hurricane.
I took Gideon into my home. I renamed him Howard Gabapentin. He is turning 9 this year. For the first 2 months in my home, he hid. Scared to make sudden moves, scared of my husband and I. Just scared. Then, one day, I walked into his room and there he was, laying in the middle of the room.
I sat on the floor, and once again, he crawled into my lap. Ever since, Howie has been the cuddliest cat I’ve ever met. He’s very talkative, his favorite thing is kisses, and he loves to watch movies with us.
Sometimes he gets scared again, and smacks us. No worries here, we know he’s just trying to find his footing.
I am so lucky to have found him. He has been an incredible lesson in patience, and unconditional love.
To my Howie, you will never be unwanted again.
Looking back, I don’t think it was an accident that he chose that exact moment to climb into my lap. Senior cat room, quiet afternoon, me sitting cross-legged on the floor just to give the shy ones space. And out he came—hesitant but determined—like he had already made up his mind. A cat who had been shuffled across states after Hurricane Ida, mislabeled, overlooked, surviving shelter to shelter, somehow decided I was safe. That kind of trust doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from a soul that still wants to believe. When I brought Howard Gabapentin—formerly Gideon—home, I promised him nothing dramatic. Just stability. The first two months were slow. He hid behind furniture, froze at footsteps, watched us with wide, calculating eyes. We let him. We spoke softly. We moved gently. Healing doesn’t respond to pressure. Then one afternoon, I walked into his room and there he was, stretched boldly in the center of the floor like he was testing gravity itself. I sat down, heart pounding, not wanting to ruin it. And just like that first day at the shelter, he walked over and climbed into my lap. That was the turning point. Now Howie narrates our evenings with chirps and commentary, demands forehead kisses like a ritual, and curls up beside us during movie nights as if he’s always belonged there. Yes, sometimes fear flickers back and he gives a little swat. We don’t take it personally. Trauma echoes. But so does love. And in this house, he will never have to wonder if he’s too old, too quiet, too much. He is home.
When I told other staff, they thought I had the wrong cat in mind. They said that Gideon had never approached anyone before, let alone got into their lap.
Our records showed that he had been bounced around shelters in the south following the deadly hurricane Ida. After failed years in shelters, he was flown into our rescue. He went by unnoticed for 4 months before he came to me.
He was originally listed in shelter records as a cat who had been surrendered as unwanted just after the hurricane.
I took Gideon into my home. I renamed him Howard Gabapentin. He is turning 9 this year. For the first 2 months in my home, he hid. Scared to make sudden moves, scared of my husband and I. Just scared. Then, one day, I walked into his room and there he was, laying in the middle of the room.
I sat on the floor, and once again, he crawled into my lap. Ever since, Howie has been the cuddliest cat I’ve ever met. He’s very talkative, his favorite thing is kisses, and he loves to watch movies with us.
Sometimes he gets scared again, and smacks us. No worries here, we know he’s just trying to find his footing.
I am so lucky to have found him. He has been an incredible lesson in patience, and unconditional love.
To my Howie, you will never be unwanted again.
Looking back, I don’t think it was an accident that he chose that exact moment to climb into my lap. Senior cat room, quiet afternoon, me sitting cross-legged on the floor just to give the shy ones space. And out he came—hesitant but determined—like he had already made up his mind. A cat who had been shuffled across states after Hurricane Ida, mislabeled, overlooked, surviving shelter to shelter, somehow decided I was safe. That kind of trust doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from a soul that still wants to believe. When I brought Howard Gabapentin—formerly Gideon—home, I promised him nothing dramatic. Just stability. The first two months were slow. He hid behind furniture, froze at footsteps, watched us with wide, calculating eyes. We let him. We spoke softly. We moved gently. Healing doesn’t respond to pressure. Then one afternoon, I walked into his room and there he was, stretched boldly in the center of the floor like he was testing gravity itself. I sat down, heart pounding, not wanting to ruin it. And just like that first day at the shelter, he walked over and climbed into my lap. That was the turning point. Now Howie narrates our evenings with chirps and commentary, demands forehead kisses like a ritual, and curls up beside us during movie nights as if he’s always belonged there. Yes, sometimes fear flickers back and he gives a little swat. We don’t take it personally. Trauma echoes. But so does love. And in this house, he will never have to wonder if he’s too old, too quiet, too much. He is home.
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