My First Love Letter

Dear Mom,

They say cats choose their humans, not the other way around. I didn’t believe that at first—mostly because I was too busy chasing butterflies and batting at leaves in the backyard of a stranger’s house. But looking back now, I know I made the best choice of my nine lives.

It was 2019. I was just a year old, give or take a few months (we street cats aren’t big on calendars). I had no home, no collar, and no real plan. I was playful, curious, and always on the hunt for a snack or a nap in a sunny spot. That’s when I found her—my hooman. She wasn't like the others. She was cautious around animals, even scared, really. I could tell by the way she kept her distance at first, watching me through the window as I pawed around her backyard like I owned it.

But I had a secret weapon: my fluffiness and undeniable charm.

Every day, I’d show up at her door—rolling on my back, stretching dramatically, and purring like my life depended on it. Slowly but surely, she started leaving food out for me. Then came the soft blankets, the gentle “hi kitty” greetings, and one fateful day… the door opened.

I strutted in like I’d lived there all my life.

It wasn’t instant love. Not really. She was still nervous. But I could feel her heart warming to me, bit by bit. She didn’t know it then, but she was becoming my fur-ever mom. And I, her little orange fluffball of joy (and chaos).

The first time she took me to the vet, I knew she meant business. Not the fun kind—oh no, we’re talking thermometers, shots, and the dreaded carrier. I meowed in protest the whole ride, but I understood. I got vaccinated, examined, and later, spayed—something about preventing future litters and keeping me healthy. It wasn’t fun, but Mom stayed by my side, speaking to me softly and spoiling me with treats afterward.

But there’s one moment that truly told me how deeply she loved me—one I’ll never forget.

It was a warm day, and my curiosity got the better of me. I slipped out the door and didn’t come back. I got turned around and ended up somewhere I didn’t recognize. The hours passed. Day turned into night. I was scared, cold, and hiding. Meanwhile, back home, my hooman was panicking. She searched everywhere—calling my name, showing neighbors my picture, walking the streets with a flashlight in hand. She didn’t stop.

The next day, I was finally found—perched way up in a tall tree, frozen with fear and too scared to come down. But there she was, my mom, looking up with tears in her eyes and a voice full of worry and love. She called out to me gently, and when I didn’t budge, she didn’t give up. She asked for help from neighbors and passersby, anyone willing to bring me back down safely. And when I was finally in her arms again, she held me tight, whispering, “You’re home now.”

That moment… it changed everything. I realized I wasn’t just a pet or a stray someone took pity on. I was loved. Fiercely. Unconditionally. Completely.

I learned then that love doesn’t always come in the form of belly rubs (though those are lovely). Sometimes it’s waking up early to take me to the vet. Sometimes it’s cleaning up hairballs without complaint (okay, maybe a little complaint). And sometimes, love is just sitting beside me on the couch while I purr away in a sunbeam.

Now, it’s been several years since that first backyard encounter. I’ve traded the streets for soft beds, tuna snacks, and endless affection. I’ve got toys in every corner, secret nap spots all over the house, and a family that tolerates my peculiar feline ways—like my 3AM zoomies, my need to knock things off tables for reasons, and my occasional standoff with the vacuum cleaner.

But most importantly, I’ve got her. My hooman. My cat mom.

She might not have grown up dreaming of becoming a pet parent, but she became the best one I could ever ask for. She’s patient, kind, and understanding—especially when I yowl at invisible ghosts or demand attention at the least convenient times. She calls me “baby” and “my girl,” and I answer with nuzzles and loud purrs that say thank you, thank you, thank you.

So, on this Mother’s Day, I want to say it loud and proud—meow it from the rooftops, if you will:

Thank you, Mom, for choosing me—even when it didn’t make sense. For letting me into your home and your heart. For the food, the care, the cuddles, and the love.

I may not bring you breakfast in bed (unless you count hairballs), but I give you my loyalty, my affection, and the occasional dead bug as a token of my love.

You are my one and only cat mom, and I will spend every day curling up beside you, blinking slowly in gratitude, and being your purring, furry shadow. I’m lucky you’re mine—and I’ll love you fur-ever.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Love,
Your fluffy and ever-fabulous Ming 💛