Sticky: The Cat Who Changed Everything
Back in 2018, on a chilly morning in Salem, Oregon, Chuck Hawley stumbled upon a heartbreaking scene. A tiny kitten was literally glued to the pavement—someone had cruelly stuck him down with adhesive. Hawley rushed to free the trembling animal, scanning desperately for the kitten’s family or any sign that he belonged to someone. But there was no one.
Without hesitation, Hawley scooped him up, carried him home, and gave him a name that captured the moment they met: Sticky.
What started as an act of compassion quickly turned into one of the most profound relationships of Hawley’s life. Though Chuck had lived with pets before, this was different. Sticky wasn’t just a companion; he was a soulmate in feline form.
The pair developed quirky rituals together. One of their favorites was heading out on car rides to their local Dutch Bros coffee shop. As Chuck sipped his drink, he would talk out loud about life—his challenges, his ideas, his questions. And somehow, even without words, Sticky always seemed to answer back.
“He was pure magic,” Chuck later recalled. “I really did feel like I got answers to some of the hardest questions in life just by looking at him.”
Over the years, Sticky’s story inspired far more than quiet conversations in the car. His resilience and spirit led Chuck to publish a children’s book, A Sticky Situation, which reached readers far beyond Oregon. The book’s success encouraged him to write more—including one especially close to his heart: We Don’t Say Goodbye, a story about grief. And through it all, Sticky was always nearby, his pawprints quietly guiding the work.
Goodbye, But Not Forever
At the end of 2024, the magic of their time together was tested. Sticky’s health began to decline, and after exhausting options, Chuck and his wife faced the devastating decision to let him go peacefully.
Walking into the vet’s office that day, Chuck was bracing for heartbreak. But before Sticky’s final moments, the cat sent his human one last message.
“My wife pointed to a bookshelf in the room,” Chuck recalled. “Right on top was a copy of We Don’t Say Goodbye. It felt like Sticky was telling me, ‘We’ll see each other again. Don’t stop what you’re doing. Keep living, keep writing.’”
With one hand holding the book and the other clasped gently around Sticky’s paw, Chuck said his final goodbye. The loss was crushing. The house felt unbearably quiet, and grief hung heavy in every corner. But Chuck had no idea that Sticky’s story wasn’t quite over—that his beloved friend was about to send him a sign from beyond.
The Paw That Reached Out
A few days after saying goodbye, Chuck was driving aimlessly when he found himself passing the Oregon Humane Society. Without planning to, he pulled into the lot. He wasn’t ready to adopt, not so soon, but maybe spending time with kittens would soothe his raw heart.
Inside, staff explained that all the kittens had been adopted earlier that day. Chuck thanked them and turned to leave, but halfway out the door, something tugged at him. He turned back.
Down a narrow hallway, behind blue tarp-covered cages, he noticed a small glass enclosure with a kitten inside. The little one reminded him faintly of Sticky, but Chuck forced himself to walk on, whispering, “Have a good life, buddy.”
And then it happened.
As he walked past the rows of cages, a paw shot out from the darkness and tapped his arm. Stunned, Chuck stopped. The paw didn’t retreat. It just rested gently on him, as if holding on.
“I pulled out my phone to take a picture, and while I was fumbling with it, that paw just stayed there,” he said. “It was like he knew exactly what I needed. Like his only mission in that moment was to make me feel better.” Pulling back the tarp, Chuck finally saw the cat behind it: a tabby with unique markings, not Sticky’s twin, but close enough in spirit that Chuck’s breath caught. The cat’s name was Allen. And in that instant, grief turned into recognition.
“I knew,” Chuck said simply. “He was supposed to come home with me.”
Allen: A New Chapter of Healing
That same day, Chuck walked out of the shelter with Allen cradled in his arms. The pain of losing Sticky hadn’t disappeared, but for the first time since his goodbye, he felt a spark of hope.
Allen quickly settled into the Hawley household as if he’d always been there. In fact, he gravitated toward many of Sticky’s favorite spots—the windowsill, the tucked-away corner of the couch, even a shelf that Sticky used to claim. To Chuck, it felt less like coincidence and more like a gentle nudge from Sticky himself.
“Sometimes it’s like Allen already knew where to go,” Chuck admitted. “As if Sticky whispered to him: ‘Here’s the good nap spots, here’s how to comfort Dad when he’s sad.’”Of course, Allen wasn’t there to replace Sticky. He was there to help Chuck heal. On Chuck’s darkest days, when grief felt impossible to bear, Allen would climb into his lap, curl up, and stay until the heaviness began to lift.
“He’s the best medicine I could have asked for,” Chuck said softly. “He doesn’t erase the loss, but he makes it bearable. And he reminds me every day that love doesn’t end. It just changes shape.”
Now, months later, Chuck firmly believes that Sticky had a paw in bringing Allen into his life. The bond he shares with Allen is new, but it feels divinely orchestrated. “I can’t imagine where I’d be if Sticky hadn’t sent Allen to me,” Chuck said.Through grief, love, and a reaching paw from a shelter cage, Chuck found proof of something extraordinary: that even when we lose those we love most, they never really leave us. They guide us to the next chapter—sometimes with a gentle tap on the arm.
