Three weeks ago, a beautiful, cream-colored cat walked into our home like he owned it. No hesitation, no testing the waters. He simply arrived, settled into the sun, and stayed.

We didn’t know whose cat he was or how long he’d been out on his own. What we knew was simpler: he was here, he was gentle, friendly, and he seemed to trust us instantly.

So we fed him. We put out water. We let him lounge in the yard, on the garden furniture and in the house, and each day he came back.

We named him Monet.

Eventually we found his owner. It was emotional to say goodbye. He gave us so much joy and love. Leaving our lives better off.

I still catch myself checking the front door and windowsill each morning, half-expecting that cream-colored, lovely and fun being, with light blue, intense eyes, and a big purr, to show up.

The question that stayed with me is this: Why us? Why did he wander into our home, of all the doors he could have chosen, at this particular time?

I don’t think it was random. I think it was an echo. Monet didn’t arrive by chance; he arrived because of who we already were before he got there. A home where care is the default, not the exception. We didn’t do anything heroic. We just did what we always do. Offer care and understanding.

That’s when it clicked for me, sitting with him on my lap: what we put out into the world comes back to us. Not instantly, not neatly, but eventually, and often in a shape we don’t expect.

Kindness attracts kindness. Positivity draws more of itself toward us, the way Monet was drawn toward a house that had room for him. And I believe the reverse is just as true. Anger, lies, manipulation, deception — they circulate outward too, and in time they find their way home, changed but recognizable.

This isn’t a technique. It was never a strategy for producing good outcomes. We didn’t feed Monet expecting anything back. That’s precisely why I trust the lesson. Nothing about it was staged. Nothing fake. It was an opportunity for goodwill. Immediate and practical empathy.

He also revealed something deeper in me. How much I genuinely love caring for another being, with nothing asked in return. And how we all long, in ways we rarely say out loud, to be chosen. Approved of. Wanted, without having to ask for it.

When Monet kept coming back on his own, it felt exactly like that — a quiet need for help and approval from a creature who had no reason to stay or to take advantage of us.

He’s back home where he belongs now. But he left something behind: proof, small and furry and real, that goodness isn’t summoned through effort alone. It’s attracted by becoming, day after day, the kind of place goodness knows it can land.

What do you attract and why?

Thanks – Michael (he, him)

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This is also important – What Does Caring Cost?

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