HE WOULDN’T STOP CLIMBING INTO MY LAP—EVEN WHEN HE COULD BARELY STAND
I wasn’t even planning to stop.
Groceries were in the backseat, my phone was clinging to its last 5%, and I was already running late. But there he was—curled up by the curb like a forgotten memory. His head barely lifted when I slowed down. Ribs showing through patchy fur, one ear permanently bent like it’d been that way for years.
He didn’t flinch when I approached. Just looked up at me with these tired, knowing eyes—like he could already tell I wasn’t going to hurt him. His legs shook when he stood, and the moment I crouched down, he stumbled forward and collapsed right into my lap. Like it was always meant to be.
That was two weeks ago.
I named him Mello. Funny name, really—he’s anything but mellow. He follows me everywhere. Room to room. Tries to curl up in my lap while I’m working, cooking, even once while I was brushing my teeth. Doesn’t matter that he’s still healing—he needs to be close, always.
The vet saw him the next morning: mange, a lung infection, two cracked ribs, and something strange on the X-ray no one could quite explain. They handed me a stack of meds and warned me it’d be expensive. But I’d already made up my mind.
I started sleeping on the couch—it’s lower, easier for him to reach me. He whines if I’m more than a few feet away. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since he got here, but honestly? I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
And then yesterday, something strange happened.
I took him in for a checkup, and the vet casually asked if I’d had him microchipped recently.
I told her no—he was a stray. At least, I thought he was.
She scanned him again, frowned, and said,
“This chip was registered two years ago. And the name listed… it’s not yours.”⬇️