I always said (only half in jest) that our cat Hobo was a bodhisattva, that he was had taken the Buddhist vow not to enter into nirvana until everyone else could, too.
Hobo, at least in the incarnation in which I knew him, was a big ginger tom. We found him strolling around at Lake Murray when he was about 8 weeks old. Fearing that he would be eaten by coyotes, we took him home. He disappeared again. but I found him a few days later sauntering up Bob Street. The next week, he moved in temporarily with the cat next door, who had just given birth to a litter. A few weeks after that he returned to stay permanently with us, having by then acquired the name Hobo.
Hobo radiated Love and Good Will to all who crossed his path. He (and also our other cat, Tigger) accompanied the dogs on our evening walks. If a car pulled up to the curb, Hobo would immediately run to the driver's side door, where he would flop down on his back, purring, waiting for the driver to get out and pet him. They always did.
A large white Samoyed used to be chained to a magnolia tree in a corner garden we passed on our regular route. He would bark up a storm, frantically straining at his chain, as our 2 dogs and 2 cats passed by.
One night, Hobo was loitering across the street directly opposite the Samoyed's house. Rob and I, Tigger, and the two dogs were about halfway across the other street, when suddenly, the chain broke.
The samoyed burst out of his yard and rushed straight for Hobo, who ambled back toward the dog and then flopped on his back in the middle of the street, purring.
The dog stopped short, looked confused for a minute, and then sniffed at Hobo's nose. We left them there and continued on our walk around the block.
When we returned, Hobo and the samoyed were standing companionably side by side in the dog's garden. Hobo rubbed his body against the dog's legs, touched its nose with his, then came home with us.