Have I ever told you the story about how I "almost" adopted a cat? Through social media, I learned about a cat named “King Street" (after the street it was found on, on a streetcar here in Toronto). Said cat is beautiful, a black cat, with amazing eyes. I made the "mistake" of telling co-workers about it, so they started bullying me and telling me I should adopt it. (It wasn't bullying, it was enthusiastic encouragement.) So I put my name in. It turns out, thankfully, that 50 (five-zero) people had put in requests, and that he had found a good home. What a relief! To not adopt a cat, I mean. I would have had to take a lot of things off of shelves, invested in a lot of gear, cleaned up a lot of cat stuff, and figure out what to do about a lot of damage to my furniture. (A lot of which needs replacement anyway.)
My biggest regret about adopting a cat would be not giving it an interesting life. It would be confined to my very small apartment, which has high ceilings at least. Meaning I would probably have wanted to give it ledges on the wall to climb. But I would be paranoid about letting it out. No balcony access, and even if so, I would put up netting, which it would outsmart. Cats notoriously outsmart humans basically at any opportunity.
I still subscribe to the RSS feed of Toronto's humane society's blog, where they showcase beautiful cats who need a new home. It's just to live a little vicariously. It would be a huge mistake for me to visit the humane society's headquarters here (which they open to the general public once a year during Doors Open Toronto) because I would leave with an animal that I would be crazy about and do anything for, but which would exhaust me.