Many years ago, there was a scraggly, thin black cat that showed up on our doorstep. My, then, wife got it a bowl of milk, because it looked like it was starving. I told her that if she put that milk down, she needed to be prepared for that cat to stay with us for the rest of it's life. She put down the milk, and over the next few weeks "Midnight" recovered to become the most beautiful and loving cat I had ever known. As the years went on, she would hear my car coming home, be sitting on the sidewalk at the end of our street, race me home, wait for me on the walkway to the front porch, then lay down and roll over so I could spend some time rubbing her tummy, and just spending a little time petting her. I'm a firm believer that rescued pets know that they've been rescued.