Benjamin James
2 years old · Black & white moo cat · Green eyes like aisle-end succulents

Benjamin James was never meant to live under a dumpster. But for a long time, that was home—wedged behind BJ’s Wholesale, where the hum of forklifts and the scent of rotisserie chicken were his lullabies. He wasn’t part of the inventory, but he was there. Waiting. Watching. Hoping someone might notice the little tuxedoed soul beneath the pallets.

He survived on scraps and instinct, curling into himself when the nights got cold and the parking lot emptied. No one saw him. Not really. Until someone did.

Now safe, Benjamin James is slowly unfolding. He’s learning that love doesn’t come in bulk—it arrives in soft whispers, gentle hands, and the kind of quiet companionship that doesn’t need a coupon. He’s tender. Thoughtful. A little shy, like someone who’s been alone too long but still believes in second chances.

His green eyes hold stories he’s not quite ready to tell, and his black-and-white coat is a patchwork of resilience. He’ll sit beside you, not asking for much—just a place to belong. A place where he’s not overlooked. A place where he’s finally chosen.

Benjamin James is ready to leave the warehouse behind. He’s not looking for a deal. He’s looking for devotion.