By: Teleah Grand DVM, CVA, CVFT, CVCH, CVTP
As veterinarians, we recommend microchips almost every day.
We explain how they work. We remind people to keep their contact information up to date. We encourage collars with identification tags. We know these simple things reunite families every day.
But every once in a while, a patient. Or in this case, a pet of our own, reminds us why we never stop having those conversations.
This is Lola’s story…
The Kitten Nobody Wanted
Back in 2003, Animal Care Center at Stonebridge Ranch took in a tiny abandoned kitten to help find her a home.
She was adopted.
Then returned.
She was adopted again.
Then returned again.
The reason?
“Too aggressive.”
That didn’t fit the kitten I knew.
Before trying to place her a third time, I decided to bring her home to see what was really going on.
It took about five minutes to solve the mystery.
Lola wasn’t aggressive.
She was incredibly affectionate.
She simply kneaded with the enthusiasm of a tiny jackhammer… with every claw fully extended.
She wasn’t trying to hurt anyone.
She was simply loving people with everything she had.
Meanwhile, my five-year-old daughter, Kate, had already reached her own conclusion.
“This is my kitty.”
And really… five-year-old girl plus kitten.
Enough said.
The adoption search was over.
Lola had found her family. Us.
Lola Being Lola
Lola was wonderfully, unapologetically… Lola.
Every night she tucked Kate into bed before curling up beside her.
She faithfully waited outside the shower or bath, apparently making sure we’d survived another water torture device.
She claimed the back of her favorite chair, where she’d spend hours looking out the window watching squirrels, rabbits, and birds in the backyard as though she had been appointed neighborhood wildlife supervisor.
She inspected the pantry, especially the large shelf where we kept her food bowls out of reach of our dogs…
She supervised the house.
She adored her people, especially Kate.
She also had one personality trait that never changed.
If a door opened…
…Lola wanted to know what was on the other side.
Usually, she came back.
Until one day…
…she didn’t.
The Longest Seven Years
Sometimes it only takes a moment.
Lola disappeared in 2010.
Kate was twelve years old.
We searched the neighborhood.
We called shelters.
We made flyers.
We hoped every phone call would be the phone call.
It never came.
Days became weeks.
Weeks became months.
Eventually, we did what so many families are forced to do.
We grieved.
The hardest part wasn’t knowing she was gone.
It was not knowing what had happened.
Was she safe?
Was someone caring for her?
Would we ever see her again?
Life moved forward because it had to.
But there was one thing we never changed.
Lola’s microchip registration stayed current.
Not because we expected it to matter.
Because hope has a way of quietly hanging on.
And Kate never gave up. Even when I did.
The Phone Call
Seven years later…
My phone rang.
Dallas Animal Services had scanned a stray cat’s microchip.
Could this really be Lola?
Honestly, I drove the hour to Dallas convinced they had the wrong cat.
Seven years is a lifetime. Lola would be 14 years old.
I kept telling myself not to get my hopes up.
Then I turned the corner.
There she was.
She was thinner than I remembered. Her hair had mostly fallen out, and she was covered in scabs.
One microchip. Seven years later. One phone call.
The shelter had treated her for a major flea infestation.
But it was Lola.
I opened the kennel door.
She leaned into me, and I picked her up.
One of the kennel assistants looked surprised.
“Huh,” she said.
“She won’t let anyone handle her.”
I smiled.
She knew exactly who I was.
The shelter was prepared to waive the fees because she belonged to me.
Instead, I handed them a $200 donation.
Someone had cared enough to scan one tiny microchip.
I wanted another family to have the chance to experience what I was experiencing.
The first person I called was Kate.
She was a freshman in college.
I don’t remember my exact words.
I only remember saying…
“It’s Lola. She was found.“
Kate came home immediately.
Seven years earlier, she had searched neighborhoods beside me for her missing cat.
Now she was walking through our front door to meet her again.
She Came Home… and Lola Lolaed
When Lola came home, we wondered if she would remember us.
We didn’t have to wonder for long.
She marched straight to the pantry where we’d always kept her food and promptly knocked over the cereal boxes we’d started storing there during the years she was gone.
She simply went back to being Lola.
She waited outside the shower exactly as she always had.
She ran to Kate and curled up with her just as she had before she disappeared.
She reclaimed the back of her favorite chair and resumed her daily neighborhood watch of squirrels, rabbits, and birds.
Seven years had passed.
Home hadn’t.
She didn’t have to remember how to be Lola.
She already knew.
She simply…
Lolaed.
Seven More Years
Lola stayed with us for nearly eight more wonderful years.
She passed away in January 2025, just a few weeks before her twenty-second birthday.
Looking back, I realize Lola’s life naturally divided itself into three chapters.
Nearly seven years with us.
Seven years away.
Nearly eight more years back home.
She entered our family when Kate was five years old.
She disappeared when Kate was twelve.
She came home when Kate was a college freshman.
And she stayed long enough to watch that little girl grow into a twenty-seven-year-old woman and they moved into an apartment of their own.
Every door stayed firmly closed.
I think we all learned something.
Why I’ll Never Stop Recommending Microchips
As a veterinarian, I’ll continue recommending collars with current identification tags.
I’ll continue recommending microchips.
I’ll continue reminding people to update their registration whenever they move or change phone numbers.
A collar may bring your pet home the same day.
A microchip may bring your pet home years later.
Lola taught me that both matter.
If your pet isn’t microchipped, let’s change that.
If they are, take a few minutes today to make sure your contact information is still current.
I hope you never need that tiny microchip.
But if you do…
I hope it quietly waits as long as it has to…
…until it brings someone you love back home.
In loving memory of Lola (2003–2025).
She taught us that love can wait seven years… and still find its way home. .
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