I love my cat more than I probably admit to most people. He's not “just a cat” to me — he's my baby.
So when I decided to keep him indoors, I never really questioned whether I was doing the right thing. Inside was safe. I didn't have to worry about cars, strange dogs, fights with other animals, or him wandering off and not finding his way home.
And honestly, I thought he had a pretty great life.
He had good food, treats, beds in practically every room, a cat tree, scratching posts, and more toys than he knew what to do with. Although, like most cats, he usually seemed more interested in the cardboard boxes they came in.
And of course, he had me.
He slept beside me, followed me around the house, sat with me while I watched TV, and waited outside the bathroom door like I might disappear forever if he couldn't see me for five minutes.
I genuinely thought, he's safe, he's loved, he's spoiled rotten. What else could he possibly need?