I had a cat once. Fluffy. My mother bought him after Dad left, even though she’d already told me twenty times she didn’t want an animal in the house.
Fluffy loved to explore the neighborhood. The old lady next door loved to feed him.
Bertha’s hearing was poor. Maybe she never heard me calling out the back door for Fluffy to come home.
Mom sat me down to explain that Bertha was lonely. “Maybe we should just let her keep him.”
What she didn’t have to say by then was that it wasn’t up to us. You can’t make someone stay.