Ours were all rescues. The oldest Onnie and Marble, we saved from a previous owner who didn't know how to take care of cats (left them outside in a ferret cage with collars on too tight). The hubs and I walked up, held the two, looked at each other and said we will take them. Got home and cut the collars off and they both had red rings around their necks and because they were kept outside in the elements without necessary shelter, they both had bad allergies to begin with.
Callum was a rescue from a cat rescuer. She "rescues" cats, but her rescuing methods were questionable.
Nabooru was rescued from my crazy sister; it was just a bad situation. Cat wasn't being taken cared of (my sister may be an animal hoarder), and almost witnessed the kitten get tossed out on the street to get killed.
My mom's first cat, Mischief, she got from a farm. She got him before I was born, but he's basically responsible for turning me into a crazy cat lady. He'd sneak into my crib and then started sleeping with me when I was a toddler. He died when I was nine.
We got Moxie when I was three. Got him from someone we knew who was in an abusive situation and she had to re-home both her cats. Husband literally would have thrown him out the door had she not brought him home. He sadly died of kidney failure when I was twelve.
Belle came from a shelter. She was adopted out and brought back at 10 months old with the excuse that she wouldn't warm up. Basically, when we got her, she would flinch every time we walked past her. Eventually, I went down to the basement in the mornings, which is where she was hanging out, and then I'd give her love then, and we'd ignore her otherwise unless she approached us. She's the sweetest cat now; it's unbelievable how her first owners ruined her.
Then, Belle got really sick in 2017. She had a UTI, developed kitty IBS, and developed a condition called pododermatitis, which made her paws all crusty. I got her better, but she got really depressed after that. She'd literally hang out in my room until I got home from work. I went on vacation for four days, and she was so depressed that she didn't eat at all while I was gone. I did research, tried a bunch of things, and determined that the only way to get her out of the rut was to get a companion for her. So I worked my dad into it, called around, and finally found Jasmine, who had been in foster care, was only eight weeks old, and was the last left in a litter of ten. It worked almost right away. We kept Jasmine in the basement, but Belle was immediately interested. She began coming downstairs during the day again to see what Jasmine's been up to. It was funny because Belle would walk by, and Jasmine would jump up and attack her, and Belle would keep walking with Jasmine hanging off of her like, "This isn't happening."
It's been two years, and they don't snuggle together or anything, but they really are attached. They'll seek each other out for play time, especially at night. Belle's a happier, more playful cat overall. She got out of her senior rut, now she acts like a younger cat.