Whiskers had been at the nursing home for as long as anyone could remember, showing up one day and seemingly becoming part of the place. He was picky with people, but with Mr. Delano, it was different. Every morning, Whiskers would curl up on the old man’s lap, the two sharing quiet, comforting moments. No one could explain why, but they were inseparable.

Then one night, Mr. Delano passed away. The next morning, Whiskers was found curled up on the empty bed, refusing to move all day. Later, while packing Mr. Delano’s things, a nurse discovered an old photo of Mr. Delano holding a kitten—black and white, with the same green eyes as Whiskers. On the back, it read, “My boy, always waiting.”

For days, Whiskers seemed lost, grieving the loss of both his friend and his purpose. Then, one evening, he led me to the front entrance, where a young man stood. Whiskers immediately recognized him, purring and rubbing against his legs. The man, Daniel, revealed he was Mr. Delano’s grandson and that his grandfather had often spoken about Whiskers, the cat that had waited for him.

Whiskers seemed at peace again, and when Daniel left, he followed him, step by step. “Are you taking him?” I asked. Daniel smiled, “If he’ll have me.” Whiskers flicked his tail, a silent agreement.

In that moment, it was clear. Mr. Delano had lost his boy, and his boy had lost his cat—but love had a way of bringing them back together. Sometimes, love just waits, like an old photograph, until the time is right.