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My buddy was found by my daughter, meowing his little head off, about 10 feet up a small tree one summer.

After many attempts to coax him down, with no success, I climbed the tree and brought him down. He fit in one hand, he was so small. We put up flyers, put an ad in the local paper, and talked to all the neighbors, but no one knew where he came from, or how he got where we found him.

We took him to the vet, who said he was likely between 2 and 4 months old, in good health, but slightly undernourished. We had him fixed, got all his vaccinations, and took him home, hoping that my older cat would accept him. She (Whiskers) slapped him a time or two, putting him in his place, and pretty much accepted him as part of the home.

For all but my two combat tours in Iraq, he's lived with me. While I was deployed, he lived with my daughter. When I came home from both tours, he jumped into my lap and acted as if I'd never been gone. He sleeps beside me every night, follows me around the house like a dog, and meows his head off when my (undiagnosed) PTSD starts getting the best of my mind. His jabbering brings me back to myself.

He is my best friend, my buddy. He is about 13 years old, healthy, and active (chases my other cat, Golly, around the house all the time). I hope he graces me with his presence and friendship for many more years.

Story submitted by William Sanders from Highlands Ranch, Colorado.

This story was originally shared on The Animal Rescue Site. Share your very own rescue story here!