I never thought I could be described as a pushover, but after this week, I can’t deny it. There’s pushover in my blood.

My in-law’s farm is often the recipient of abandoned cats and dogs. Why people think it’s humane to discard their pets in the middle of nowhere is beyond me, but it happens—a lot. At our last visit to the farm my daughter met their newest abandoned creature—a sweet female kitten. The scrawny little thing was struggling to fend for herself among all the established farm cats running around. They wouldn’t let her eat the food they put out, nor let her enter the barn where most of them go to get out of the weather. My daughter couldn’t stand it—we just had to save this one.

We already have a cat in our house, so my first reaction was no. As someone who wasn’t raised with house pets, I figured I deserved a medal of patience for allowing even one in my home. My daughter didn’t give up, begging the entire ride home and all the next day.

“Fine,” I said, throwing up my hands, “but our cat may not like having a newcomer in our home. And you chose him first, so you’re going to have to honor that.”

Oh the first day wasn’t good when my father-in-law brought the kitten to us. Our cat switched into such a super-grump I figured the only answer was to find another home for the kitten. My stubborn daughter refused to see that as an option. I have to give her determination credit. The effort is starting to pay off, and our older cat is starting to chill out, but now I’m kind of worried. My daughter knows my secret. I really do have a soft spot for all these abandoned animals, but the thought of making my home into a sanctuary for every single one of them makes me want writhe on the floor in the fetal position.