My first cat, rescued from a no-kill shelter in '05 was an older kitty who had lived outside for several Minnesota winters. He lost all of one ear and half of the other to frostbite. The foster said I was the first person to call about him in the year she'd had him. 
At that minute I knew he was the cat for me. We were roomies for five years and two weeks to the day. The vet said he was probably about 16 when his kidneys conked out and he had to cross the Rainbow Bridge. That was the worst day of my adult life. Max had been with me through the worst times and always been there to snuggle, purr and just be there.
A couple of months later I went back to the shelter looking for a new cat. One was leaving to his new home, another was skittish, but this big ol' Turkish Van boy just kept following me around. He looked like Max if Max had been a feline bodybuilder - all 17 lbs of him. I finally gave in, and took him home. He had picked me out as soon as he saw me I think. He's also an older cat, but didn't lead the hard life Max did and has a lot more cattitude. I wound up calling him Butch cos he looks like a cat version of one of those bulldogs from Tom and Jerry cartoons that were always called Butch.
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