We had two cats, and both my husband and I had agreed that it was enough for our household. Our cats, both male and both former strays, were getting along great and adding a lot of fun to our life. Why take in more and risk getting your house overrun by felines?

So when I decided to volunteer at our local animal shelter (in the cat room, of course), I knew I was not to adopt any. In fact, my husband had made sure to remind me of our mutual decision on cat limits. “Don’t you fall in love with any cats over there,” he said, “remember we are not taking any home.” That was fine with me. I did not plan on tricking him into expanding our whiskered family.

I started helping at the shelter, cleaning, filling the kitties’ food and water bowls, socializing the cats by playing with them and combing them (my favorite part). I loved it! I could go only once a week, but that was enough to get to know the kitties, learn their stories and personalities – and yes, fall in love with many of them. However, I remembered my promise and never thought or hinted about maybe adopting anyone. We had two cats, and that was enough, we thought.

There was, however, someone who thought differently. His name was Nixon, and he was the biggest cat at the shelter, weighing over 20 pounds, most of it muscle. He was one of those gentle giants who never fight and prefer to watch things from a distance rather than actively participate. Dressed in a tux, Nixon also sported a black mask that covered the upper part of his face, including the nose, and very symmetrically, too.

Somehow, Nixon knew that I liked big cats. And somehow, he knew that the way to our home was through my husband. He did not make any huge efforts to win me over, really; at times he would not even purr when I combed or petted him. My husband, on the other hand, always got that deep rumbling purr when he’d pick Nixon up. Yes, my husband had singled him out as well. Since I don’t drive, he took me to the shelter and back; each time he would come for me he’d enter the kitty room for a few moments, and each time he would look for “the big fellow.” The big fellow would hug my husband and rest his head on his shoulder. I saw the bond forming, but I still couldn’t believe it when I heard my husband say, “When we finish our new house, let’s adopt Nixon.”

I did not need to be asked twice, of course! Soon enough, even before we’d finished the house, we arrived to the shelter with our pet carrier (which turned out to be a bit to small) to take Nixon home. I worried that he might get scared and refuse to go into the carrier, like our first cat did; not at all. Nixon appeared to know what was going on from the start. He calmly entered the carrier – or should I say squeezed himself in it. When we got home, he just as calmly came out and stretched on the bed. “Home at last!” his pleased look said.

That was it. No adjustment time, no being scared or nervous about the new place. Our first cat, Beanie, had accepted Nixon right away, they became instant friends. We thought our second one, Charles, would be more of a problem, and he was. He met Nixon with a loud hiss, and continued to speak his mind about the newcomer in the same manner every time he saw him. Charles even hissed at Beanie, too, obviously for accepting the intruder. Nixon wisely ignored this impolite behavior and eventually won: Charles got used to him and somehow decided that the big fellow was okay.

Today, all three eat, play, and cuddle together. They also cooperate to plan elaborate schemes to make us get out of bed early in the morning and fill their bowls as often as possible. Some mild jealousy occasionally takes place, and some of their wrestling matches may take a rough turn, but overall, Charles, Nixon, and Beanie are getting along great.