can you imagine Oliver having to show up at quidditch trials and say ‘anyone who’s here to try out for seeker better go back up to the castle because an 11 year old boy rode a broom for the first time today and McGonagall gave him the seeker position before asking me or letting me see him play sorry guys’
I’m literally watching that scene right now and now I can’t stop laughing
This was meant to be a quick warm up, but it turned into a comic that I’ve wanted to draw for a while. This is something that is extremely important to me, and I appreciate it if you read it.
A while ago, I heard a story that broke my heart. A family went a cat shelter to adopt. The daughter fell in love with a 3-legged cat. The father straight up said “absolutely not”. Because he was missing a leg. That cat was that close to having a family that loved him, but the missing leg held him back. Why?!
Many people have the initial instinct of “nope” when they see an imperfect animal. I get it, but less-adoptable does NOT mean less loveable. 9 out of 10 people will choose a kitten over an adult cat. And those 10% that would get an adult cat often overlook “different” animals.
All I want people to do is be open to the idea of having a “different” pet in their lives. Choose the pet that you fall in love with, but at least give all of them a fair shot at winning your heart.
Don’t dismiss them, they deserve a loving home just as much as any other cat. They still purr, they still love a warm lap, they still play, they still love you. Trust me, next time you are in the market for a new kitty, just go over to that one cat that’s missing an eye and see what he’s all about!
Let me tell to you a thing.
This is Lenore. I first saw her in a little cage at the Petco I frequent (I used to take my parents’ dog in for puppy play time), and she looked like the grouchiest, old, crotchety cat in the world, and I fell instantly in love. She was cranky, she was anti-social, hanging out at the back of her cage. Her fur was matted because she wouldn’t let the groomers near her.
She was perfect.
But I didn’t have a place for her. I wasn’t living in my own space yet, and where I was, I wasn’t allowed cats. So I pressed my face to the bars of her cage and I promised that if no one had adopted her by the time I’d bought a house, I would come back for her.
I visited her every week for over six months while I looked for a house. At one point, they had to just shave her entire rear-end because the mats or fur were so bad. They told me she clawed the heck outta the groomer that did it, screamed the entire time, and spent the next two days growling at anyone that came near the cage.
A couple of weeks later, I closed on my house. I went back and I got an employee, and I said: “That one. I need that cat.”
They got the paperwork and the lady who ran the rescue that was bringing the cats in told me that Lenore (at the time, Lila) was 8 years old, had been owned by an elderly lady who had died, and brought in to a different rescue, who’d had her for six months on top of the time I’d been seeing her at Petco.
This kitty had been living in a 3x3’ cube for over a YEAR because she was older and “less adoptable.”
I signed the paperwork, put her in a cat carrier, and drove her to my new home. I had pretty much nothing; a bed, an old couch, a couple of bookcases, and a tank of mice I called “Cat TV”. I let her out of the carrier and onto my bed, and I told her “I told you I would come back for you when I had a place. It’s not much, but it’s yours too now.”
Lenore spent the next three days straight purring non-stop. She followed me around the house purring. Sat next to me purring. Slept next to me purring. Leaning into every touch, purring, purring, always purring. She still purrs if you so much as think about petting her. She’s amazing, and I love her.
So, you know, if you’re thinking about adopting, and you see a beast that others consider “less adoptable,” think about Lenore.
I was so nervous talking to a man that I have admired for twelve years of my life. The man who let me know as a child that miserable things happen and that’s perfectly normal. The same man who helped me overcome my fear of reading after being screamed at by my teacher that I would never be able to read anything my grade level, only to have a college level reading skill by the end of sixth grade. My motivation to write and keep doing whatever I want because no matter who tries to bring me down, I know that I can overcome it just like I did those years ago.
I blushed and stuttered, barely getting out a ‘this may sound dorky, but thank you for everything you’ve done for me’. I hadn’t told him the tragedies that had gone on in my life in specifics. I thanked him for giving me a chance when so many adults did not and how I found it ironic that I still love a series about miserable children when I practically went through the same thing. And even though I’ve heard ‘I’m sorry’ so many times about every death, every terrible thing that has happened, I have never heard one so sincere.
Here I was beating myself up about failing to convey myself in front of this wonderful man. How I missed my chance. Putting my things away, I grabbed my book and peeked inside to see this. And I began to cry.
This is a man who I have never met before. A man I have only dreamt of meeting since I was very small. But yet in one small sentence he has managed to move me entirely. A sentence that has needed to be said for a long time now.
‘To Bridget, who has suffered enough.’
IT SUDDENLY GOT REALLY DARK IN HERE LIKE as if someone stood in front of our brightest lamp and it freaked me out so bad cause i thought “GHOSTS??? DEMONS?????” and i turned around and all i saw was