When my husband and I were living in DC, we moved into a new apartment that allowed pets and decided we wanted a cat. So we went down to the county shelter and in one cage was this skinny black cat with a white dot on its neck. The cards on the cages listed why the owners had given the cats up, and in this cat’s case it said “Not enough time for him.”

Sure, that’s sad — but wait, let me finish the story. We chose him. Yes, he was very demanding of our attention. But as it happened, we were just as happy with him as he was with us. We took tons of pictures of him, we talked about his antics, we had the time to lavish him with affection. Eventually we even got him a girlfriend-cat.

He died of lymphoma when he was ten, and one of the consolations we had was that he’d had seven happy years with us. That wouldn’t have been possible — and I’m sure his life would have been lonely and miserable — if his previous owners hadn’t understood he needed more than they could give.

I hope Buster gets a good match soon.