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Hello... my name is Carl
I never thought I’d be writing something like this.
I’ve never been very good with words, and I’ve never been good at asking for help. I grew up believing a man was supposed to handle things on his own, quietly, without burdening anyone else.
But lately… that’s been getting harder.
I’m an old man now. My days are slow. Too slow sometimes. The house creaks more than it used to, and the nights feel longer than they ever did. Silence settles in heavy once the sun goes down.
The only thing that keeps this place warm… are the cats.
They found me, really. One by one. Cold paws on my porch. Thin bodies. Big, frightened eyes looking for something—anything—that felt safe. I couldn’t turn them away. I never could.
So I did what I knew how to do. I opened my door. I shared what little I had. And eventually, that turned into a small foundation. Nothing fancy. No big offices. Just a shelter, and a promise: that no cat under my roof would ever be hungry, cold, or unloved again.
They have names now.
They have favorite spots by the window.
They wait for me when I wake up… and when I come home.
This house doesn’t feel empty anymore.
My granddaughter helped me make this website. She did it for free, sitting beside me, patiently explaining things I don’t quite understand. Watching her do that believing in what I’m doing meant more to me than she probably knows.
But love alone doesn’t pay for food.
Love doesn’t cover vet bills.
And love can’t keep the lights on by itself.
Some days, I skip meals so they don’t have to.
Some nights, I sit at the table long after everyone’s asleep, doing the math over and over, hoping the numbers will change if I stare at them long enough.
I worry.
I worry about what happens to them if I can’t keep going.
They don’t understand money.
They don’t understand bills or donations.
They only understand kindness.
And they trust me with their lives.
If you’re reading this, thank you for taking the time, for listening, for caring. Even that means more than you know.