When the shelter named him “Bruce,” it was a joke—he was tough, scrappy, and didn’t trust anyone. Years on the street had left him guarded. But Bruce wasn’t mean—just hurt.
Little by little, he began to change. He let a volunteer pet him. He stopped lashing his tail. Healing came in quiet moments.
One day, a tiny kitten was found in a box at the shelter’s door—orange, fluffy, and barely walking. They had no nursing moms and weren’t sure she’d survive.
Then Bruce heard her cry.
Without hesitation, he walked to her crate, curled around her, and pulled her close like she was his own. From that moment, they were inseparable.
He protected her, groomed her, and watched over her like a guardian. She grew strong and playful, and the staff named her Peach.
When a family wanted to adopt them, the shelter said firmly: “They’re a package. Bruce won’t go without her.”
Now, in their forever home, they sleep together—Bruce’s paw resting over Peach—knowing they saved each other.
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