I didn’t really want to adopt Sonny.

At least, I didn’t want to go to the animal shelter on the day when my then-wife and I met him.

We had recently put to rest an ancient (21-year-old!) cat who was the last of three we had when we started dating and eventually merged into our makeshift family.

I thought it would be better to wait a while, to get over the grief of losing Muffin, a surly gray cat who seemed to loathe all animals and most people, ourselves excepted.

If we had gone to the shelter on a different day, someone else might have adopted Sonny. I don’t even want to think about the other alternative.

Actually, I don't want to think about either alternative, because Sonny ended up playing such a key role in my life.

My wife said we were going “just to look,” but I’m not a complete idiot. I knew we wouldn’t be leaving that place empty-handed that day.

Many other dogs at the shelter gave us the hard sell, barking and furiously wagging their tails as we approached their enclosures.

Not Sonny. He lay calmly where he was, looking up at us with sad, pleading eyes. Later, someone described them as “teddy-bear eyes” because they had the gentle cuteness of a stuffed animal.

He wasn’t as energetic as the other dogs, which suggested he was either sick or too broken by whatever life had served up for him so far.

Of course, we took him. Of course, we loved him.

He wasn’t a fancy purebred worth a lot of money. As best as the staff at the shelter could figure, he was a mix........

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