So what do we do when we have a set of brothers who show all - and I mean all - the symptoms of sibling rivalry?

The first thing you notice about Boots and Pause is the family resemblance. From those big, round, neutered-later-in-life heads to their tuxedo markings, these brothers were blessed with the same good looks.

Then there’s the fact that they are inseparable…but not always in the way you might think.

Until a few days ago, I’d only ever seen the boys side by side in peaceful reverie, taking in Suite B from the comfort of one another’s company. I loved their bondedness and naturally assumed that we’d push to have them adopted as a matched set. You’d never buy one salt or pepper shaker without picking up its perfectly symmetrical match - so how could we un-bond the boys of B?

Funny I should ask.

It turns out Boots is eager to get un-bonded from Pause in one major way.

Just when the boys had almost convinced me that they were brothers and BFFs at once, the secret came out: Pause has been watching ultimate fighting on cable, and he finds it more than a little inspiring.

Don’t let those daytime, side-by-side catnaps lull you: Pause means business, and poor Boots is…well, all too often on the business end of Pause. This is no ordinary, looks-like-savagery-but-is-actually-fun playtime; Pause becomes a wild savage beast, and it’s all his lookalike brother can do to escape.

Ginny tells me that, earlier this week, the two were wrestling so ferociously that they rolled right off the ramp in Suite B, bouncing off the cubbies and landing on the floor - all while in a combat clinch.

So what to do? Are the boisterous brothers destined for a home together (as befits their many mellow moments of togetherness), or is it Boots’ dream to get away from Pause the pummeler?

Maybe a glance at human behavior will provide a clue. As an only child, I have my own issues (for which there’s not enough space on all the blogs in the world :-)), but I’ve been spared the scars and bruises of sibling rivalry. Yet most of my (human) dear ones hold no resentment for the siblings who brought them grievous bodily harm during childhood. In fact, it seems almost a right of passage to have almost killed/been almost killed by your siblings before age 8 - and then to talk about it amidst gales of laughter when you’re 28.

So, for now, we’re keeping a close eye on this tumultuous brotherhood. As intense as Boots and Pause can be with one another, they’re each so mushy-sweet with people that I know their meant-to-be human beans will find them in the near future. The only question: will it be one home, or two different destinations, for these boys? Stay tuned.

Awesome squared: BFF felines adopted together.

Awesome to the nth degree: regular, glorious photo updates on those very BFFs gobbling up the joy they deserve.

Behold the sweet life of Tabby’s Place’s legendary lovers, our Bogey & Bacall: Patch and Ginger. Special thanks to their miracle mama, Pat Z, for treating us with this sweeter-than-marzipan update.

Everyone is doing splendidly over here at Casa Z. Ginger is quite honestly the mushiest little girl EVAH and so settled. There is not a moment she’s not in the mix, getting into the action and totally letting me kiss her head and all over her sweet little Torbie self and loving it like a wiggle worm.

OK, time for an editorial break-in here: be it known that, for her first year-and-a-half-plus at Tabby’s Place, Ginger was decidedly unsnuggly with the human variety. Eventually she would let us pet her, all the while scrunching her face into a very clear expression that screamed, This will be over soon. At least it will if there’s any justice in the world. Funny how “justice” works out after all. OK, back to Casa Z…

She and Patch mush and play fight so much and they are so happy together. Everyone truly loves each other. It is one very happy household! I cannot tell you how lucky I feel to have them all in my life.

And, I think Ginger is finally winning over my little red cat, Cancun. He’ll be laying next to me and she will literally full-body mush him, lay down and actually, roll over and almost lay on him. Mind you, Cancun is like 8.5 pounds! (Editor’s note: Ginger is…um, considerably more than 8.5 pounds.) Then, of course, she looks up at me with the cutest smile - and he’ll pretend to get stern with her and end up licking her ears and face. I believe he is done fighting the losing battle against her overabundant bursting affections (well, almost).

Patch is awesome with the felines but still a little skittish at times with the beans (sudden moves mostly), otherwise, he keeps to his incredible ritual of waiting for me to wake up every morning and then coming to head butt me and purr over and over again until I get up. Honestly, it’s got to be one of the sweetest, best parts of my day! At night, he has his special place on the bed and lounges out like a little rock star!

I honestly know how much he loves me - he totally does. He’s always following me around and trying to be stealthy about watching me but honestly, the guy is plainly fascinated with me “what’s she doing now?” “I wonder if she notices me spying at her around the corner?” LOL. But I was right - it’s going to take him a really long time to be completely at ease - and I am so looking forward to seeing complete serenity engulf him one day. Sigh.

 Pat, you are the kind of human bean who engulfs us in serenity here at Tabby’s Place. May you be ever more richly rewarded with the trust of the twosome who were always smitten with one another…and who are now, quite clearly, head-over-heels for you, too.

If you’ve adopted a cat from Tabby’s Place, you have the power to make my day, and the days of at least five other human beans and 100 cats. And, if you’ve adopted three especially amazing Tabby’s Place alumni, you have the power to send us into the joy-stratosphere. Exhibit A: this e-mail from the Rusty-Brando-Francis Family:

Angela,

We thought you would like to know how Rusty is doing. He was still hiding at his 3-day check-up, but almost immediately after that he started coming out to be seen. He has made amazing progress — more than we could have hoped.

He comes out to be petted and rolls around on the floor (see the attached pictures). He and Brando have taken up where they left off. They roll around and play together frequently. We have noticed that Brando now sleeps more—I think Rusty must wear him out! It makes us happy to watch the two of them together (you can even see big brother Francis in one picture–watching the shenanigans).

Rusty really is a sweet boy and is genuinely loving (just like Brando and Francis). We are very glad they all are part of our family.

Thanks for the great work that you do.

Rusty-Brando-Francis Family, we knew it would take an especially awesome set of human beans to keep these kitties rolling. For skittish Rusty to be so “pettable” in his first week with you is a sign of something stellar: he knows he’s home, with the human beans he was meant to adore. To say it gives me glee to know how they are thriving, and how Rusty and Brando have resumed one of the greatest kitty-friendships in history, is the understatement of the century.

So celebrate those shenanigans. Revel in the ridiculousness. And love them well - as you are clearly doing with great gusto.

But, with a few recent arrivals, we would seem to have a full royal court. Windsor’s got nothing on Tabby’s Place.

We’d already been graced with the presence of a Queen. Admittedly, our glam sable girl is of the frequent opinion that it should be off with all human beans’ heads (or at least hands, judging from her stealth attacks on volunteer appendages). But, no matter. Aside from considering herself the ruler of Suite C (and not just her fellow black cats therein), Queen is confident in the knowledge that she has the highest title at Tabby’s Place.

Or at least she did.

I wouldn’t recommend telling Queen, but her equal has arrived. That’s right: cuddling up in Quarantine, awaiting his debut in our suites, is our newest member of the royal family…King.

Now, we’ve already had an Elvis at Tabby’s Place, and this new face isn’t The King. He’s simply…King.

The good news is, this new leader of our chess table wears his crown very lightly. More a snuggle-bug than a tyrant, King’s dynasty can only be good for everyone involved. Queen has good reason to hope that her unexpected (and probably unwanted) husband will be leaving his Ringoes kingdom for a forever home sooner than later.

But it takes more than just a King and Queen to fill out a proper court, and we could count on our cats to do things properly. So, coming in completely different groups from Queen and King are the two junior members of the royal family: Princess Zara and Prince Leopold.

Suffice to say that there is zero “family” resemblance between these two and the royal mum, Queen. If Queen is Princess Z and Prince L’s “mom,” then I am, in fact, the Queen of Spain.

With the floofiest, most ladylike ears, gigantic green eyes and softest personality this side of Camelot, Princess Zara is precisely the kind of cat who is adopted in her first 12 seconds at Tabby’s Place. Well…almost. The only thing to possibly slow down her coronation in a forever family’s home is the fact that tiny Zara has FIV.

And this, I’m afraid, runs in the “family.” Prince Leopold will also be joining Suite FIV once his Quarantine reign concludes. As sweet and mooshy as his “sister,” Leopold would likewise seem to have sky-high hopes of adoption despite this. The upside of Zara and Leopold’s FIV+ status is that they will never have to meet the cat-scorning Queen above them.

Lest all this highfalutin royal business make us feel small, there’s one more member of the Tabby’s Place court who will sweep smiles back across our mugs. No self-respecting royal family is complete without its very own court Jester.

And our tabby comedian is well worthy of the name. Whether he’s cramming his incredible girth into a bed ten sizes too small, or slamming his striped self into the suite window while chasing a wand toy, Jester is equal parts goofball and love bug. Even if you’ve just faced the Queen’s royal claws, you’re sure to come out laughing after a few minutes with the Jester.

Perhaps proving that jesters aren’t fools, Jester has taken up residence in Suite B…at a safe distance from the Queen.

All kidding aside, no amount of scratches and scrapes can dethrone Queen from our hearts. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I’ve personally only had sweet interactions with her (though my friends’ battle scars are sobering enough). I do believe there may yet be a home for the hot-tempered girl who makes the Red Queen look like Strawberry Shortcake.

In the meantime, there’s no denying it: she’s the top of the heap in Tabby’s Place royalty. (Except for you, Peachy, except for you. Naturally.)

And we human beans peons have the high honor of loving her, and the whole regal court, just the way they are.

Take my own “little Dibbles,” who is 18 pounds of tiny titanic tabby adorableness. Or “little Bellis,” who increasingly looks like a creamsicle-colored sausage. Or today’s featured sweetheart, our very own “little patchwork quilt:” Jan.

We’ve called Jan by this term of endearment for years now at Tabby’s Place, and it does fit - the “patchwork quilt” part, anyway. This little (I can’t stop myself) beauty has a pattern to put Pucci to shame.

But “little”? Um…suffice to say that Jan lives in Suite A, land of the titans.

Then again, our Jan does have a tendency to make herself as small as possible when you first meet her. Venture into Suite A and you’ll immediately make the acquaintance of Maggie, Jackie and Apache…but where is that quilted creature you can’t help but adore?

Look up.

High above your head, nestled on the ramp to the solarium, you’ll find lovely Jan. Nine times out of ten, she’ll be hunkered down with her BFFs Cookie and Oreo. As faithful a friend as any feline could wish for, Jan is profoundly devoted to her buddies. She seems somehow drawn to the sad-sack types, lifting cranky Cookie’s spirits with her warm cuddles and keeping anxiety-ball Oreo company day in and day out.

Long before moving to Suite A, Jan was the ultimate nursemaid to the gray angel-boy with the Charlie Brown personality: Tails. Although Jan and Tails were only roomies for a few months before Tails succumbed to congestive heart failure, their bond blazed with affection. Young Jan was never far from her elderly friend’s side, and her quiet affection sweetened Tails’ final months more than words can say. Don’t let Jan’s timidity or blueberry-shaped bod mislead you: this girl is a confidante and comforter of the highest order when it comes to the cats who need her most.

But back to Suite A, and a human bean’s discovery of Jan atop the ramp. She’s not ready to be your confidante just yet. With her golden eyes as wide as marbles, she’ll follow your movements, scrunching her abundant self into the corner with concern.

Word to the wise: don’t take it personally. Jan’s just got her own master plan.

And, if you’re persistent and Jan-smitten, that plan does involve you. Give it time. Keep visiting. And, above all, keep talking. Her own quiet ways notwithstanding, Jan is won over by cooing conversationalists, and she will come down that ramp when she’s convinced you’ve got the gentle heart to match your soft voice.

Once she does? Oh, boy, you’re in trouble - the best kind of trouble.

Have you ever been wrapped in a gigantic patchwork quilt fresh from the dryer?

Such is the bliss of finding Jan’s affections. Her plan is a success when she’s got your heart for good, and you’ve got her happy round head rubbing into your hands with gusto and glee.

Keep this up, and the little patchwork quilt will soon become your favorite work of art. And, really, who wants to be “little” in the traditional sense when you can adore a living-large love-bug like Jan?

Our favorite feline stoner connoisseur of nepetalactone is continuing his mellow world tour…and he’s now officially joined the ranks of the sponsorable.

That’s right, Peachy’s nemesis/paramour (depending on the day) is now ready for the masses to jump aboard as his Special Needs sponsors. He presently has exactly one sponsor (who is not Peachy). He is ready for eight thousand jillion more.

Not that any of this pressure stresses out the cool cat of the Community Room…er, make that Lobby.

I wouldn’t dare to speculate on why Mr. Grey has been banished willingly strolled out of the Community Room. I thought I heard Peachy and Pitzel talking some trash about Grey’s habits of peeing on every last square inch of the floor…but I’m sure I heard wrong.

Anyway, Mr. Grey is as cool a character as ever. And, he’s especially cool with the fact that the groovy human bean who will be writing his monthly Special Needs updates has the last name of Blue. (OK, it’s spelled differently. But Mr. Grey doesn’t have time for spelling. It’s about the music, man.)

So the great Grey one and his Blue belle are ready for your sponsoring enjoyment.
In closing, Mr. Grey has asked that I remind you: keep it real.

We know you will.

I will confess I have dragged my heels on posting this blog entry.

Two weeks after we said goodbye, I still almost can’t believe that our Tony, our tower of love and gentleness, is gone. I am taking comfort that weeping lasts for a night, but joy comes in the morning. And, someday, we will see Tony again, healthy and whole and as sweet as ever. In the meantime, here is the farewell we bid him for his Special Needs sponsors two weeks ago.

Dear fellow Tony-adorers,

I’m not ready to write this update.

But the truth of the matter is that I would never have been ready to write this update, or to feel this ache.

Our beloved Tony has passed away.

Last Friday, I began to worry that we were nearing the time of goodbye. Tony was quiet and had lost a pound in just three days. Everything about our gentle boy cried out that he was just so…tired. We humans were a flock of mother hens brooding over Tony, hearts aching as we did our best to determine whether he was enjoying life more than he was struggling.

As much as we wanted to have our Tony with us forever, and as much as we weren’t ready for goodbye, we wanted more than anything to do the most loving thing. After all, Tony himself was all love.

I’m thankful to report that Tony enjoyed two more good, love-full days this snowy weekend. Knowing that his time with us was short, the staff and volunteers surrounded him with all the love he could stand (and that’s a LOT of love, since Tony lives for love…well, and wet food).

But, today, from the moment I laid eyes on our boy, I knew he was hurting. I will confess I didn’t want to believe this could be the end. He could rally again, my heart hoped. He could have another Tony Miracle, like when we first moved him to the lobby last summer.

But this was to be a day for a very different sort of miracle. As I looked into Tony’s wide, innocent green eyes, I knew we had to return the selfless love he’d always shown us. Loving Tony today would mean showing him the mercy he needed most. We humans would never feel ready…but Tony’s tired body and straining spirit were clearly ready to go home.

So, surrounded by people who adored him, Tony gently passed out of this world. Weeping, I stroked his chin for the last time, telling him how much I adored him, how much he was adored by every one of you.

In our tears, the staff agreed that the world has lost one of its great lights. Tony broke the mold: there is only one cat in the history of time who has been this gentle, this peaceful, this content with life through all circumstances.

I have loved many cats, but I can honestly say that Tony is the single most gentle and loving cat I have ever known. From wild-eyed kittens to Special Needs seniors to humans of every variety, everyone felt at home with Tony, and Tony loved each one exactly as they were. How could we not feel at home with such love?

Even as we weep together, I cling to a hope beyond death. I believe with all my heart that our Tony is now more alive than he has ever been. I believe that Tony is in the place where there is no more crying, no more pain, and no more diabetes or acromegaly. With a full belly and a happier-than-ever heart, Tony is blazing with life and joy. And I believe that we will see him there, and never be separated again.

In the meantime, we weep. But we also rejoice at having loved this spectacular cat. Tony’s love has made us all better, more loving people, and Tony’s legacy lives forever.

I will always love you, Tony. Until we meet again…

Just picture it: a sweet-natured schizophrenic, two good-time guys who love to snuggle strangers and pee on the floor, and the prettiest, hissiest girl in town all live together. Hijinks ensue.

Hmmm. Maybe they’re not quite ready for prime time.

As in any sitcom, a simple script for Max, Angelo, Trey and Cypress would mean drawing simple characters and flattening the complexities - and these four loves are nothing if not complex. No, they deserve better than any sitcom can sketch.

Take Max, who you’ve already met. It’s not quite fair to call our long-and-lanky boy with the teardrop-shaped eyes schizophrenic. There’s no DSM-IV for cats, and no vet could confidently slap him with that diagnosis. Then again, when Max first joined our clowder, we couldn’t help but draw psychiatric conclusions. When agitated, this most handsome of cats would growl and eye his own tail menacingly, darting glances over his shoulder at invisible foes that were all too visible to him. Most of the time, Max was a moosh…but it was hard to ignore those times when he was suddenly anguished, doing battle with forces we couldn’t see.

But if Max is living with a mental illness (and I believe he is, bravely), he could be the smiling poster child for learning to live with it. It’s no small feat that he’s become a full-time resident of Adoption Room #2. It wasn’t long ago that Max lived in his own padded cell “private suite” - aka the on-site apartment - for his own protection, as well as that of other cats. When the attacks from another world had tapered off, we felt Max might be ready to meet some other felines. And so, with fear and trembling, we moved him into the real world of sounds and sights and cats.

“Mad” Max will likely always be the kookiest character in Adoption Room #2, but he has shown himself capable - gloriously capable - of keeping his cool even around neighbors who love him all too much.

That brings us to Angelo and Trey. Oh, how these fellas would love to love Max. Spend a bit of time (oh, 2.5 seconds) with Trey and Angelo, and you’ll discover that their shared goal is to enfold the entire world in their affection. Are you human? Feline? A three-toed sloth? Perhaps a giant mole rat? Angelo and Trey love you already.

While Trey’s bibbed-tabby style makes him look like Max’s distant cousin, Angelo stands out immediately for his floofy snow-white coat. They’re batty about each other, and would love to pile in a heap with Max, too. Trey, in particular, seemed optimistic about the prospects of being Max’s friend. Surely, given how mad Max is about humans, he would welcome Trey’s BFF overtures?

Or not.

Fortunately, Trey is keen on social cues, and it only took a few swats and low-grade “angry noises” from Max before he gave up on bonding with the big guy. Angelo - and every human within an 800-mile radius - will have to be friends enough for Trey.

The good-time guys’ circle of friends has also been limited by that ookiest of habits, “inappropriate elimination.” Trey has a little bit of an excuse, in the form of feline lower urinary tract disease…but his condition is well controlled with a special diet, so it’s a pretty lame excuse in the end. Angelo’s only excuse is that he looks up to Trey. We’re working with the boys on this weirdness, and I’m hopeful that someday we won’t have anything to write on Adoption Room #2’s “Did anyone go outside the box?” log. (Yes, we keep a log of such things. You can imagine the appetizing lunchtime conversations at Tabby’s Place.) With that oddity out of the way, these sunshine boys will be out of here and into forever homes faster than a giant mole rat on a luge.

Finally, that brings us to the single lady cat in this kooky suite, the one and only Cypress. Between a glamorously fluffy grey coat and a quirky tail permanently kinked into a question mark, Cypress is quite simply one of the cutest cats I have ever seen. Mama to our long-since-adopted Pogo and Roo, Cypress was an angry hiss-ball when she first came to us six months ago.

But she’s made progress. Really. It’s just been at the pace of…well, a three-toed sloth.

I hear that certain volunteers can get Cypress to lick yummy things from their fingers (without also eating said fingers). I also hear that, after six months of bringing Cypress wet food every single day, certain staff members still get hissed-out every single day. For my part, I love this icy-beautiful girl, even if she does slink back into her hidey hole every time I enter the room, shooting me withering looks of disdain. (It reminds me a bit of how the popular girls would eye me and my fellow freaks and geeks circa 8th grade. “Could you be more lame?”)

I predict it’s going to be a one-in-a-million match for Cypress. She needs a human bean who she’ll click with right away, based on her own criteria. We can’t predict who that will be or when he or she will arrive…but, I do believe, that superadopter will arrive.

In the meantime, Cypress surveys the silliness of Adoption Room #2 from her lofty hidey-hole. And we human beans get to love this quartet of characters just the way they are.

I had hoped that we’d get to enjoy the pure, unadulterated bliss of seeing all seven Greek kittens romp together in the lobby. But, in order for that to happen, the kittens couldn’t find their forever homes during their stint in Quarantine…and, yes, a wee, wicked little part of me hoped they wouldn’t.

I’m happy to report that I did not get my selfish wish.

There might be something in the world sweeter than watching a herd of kittens tumble together, but I can’t imagine what it would be.

I recall my first introduction to this brand of bliss. I’d been working at Tabby’s Place just a few weeks when a scrawny sextet from Philadelphia came to live in our lobby. One afternoon, Jonathan paged the entire building to announce, “Please report to the lobby to play with kittens at once.” You can imagine how readily we all obliged.

And, oh, what a sweet order it was. These six mini-maniacs tumbled and tangled and rampaged with the energy of ten thousand jumping beans. We human beans only stoked their energy as we doubled over laughing, watching ten-ounce fluffballs poof up like hedgehogs and jump sideways at each other. One after the next, they’d arch into “Halloween cat” poses, taking on their siblings, unsuspecting adult cats, and random pieces of furniture. (Someone’s gotta show those chairs who’s boss, after all.) 

It’s really a very simple formula: kittens in the Tabby’s Place lobby = fiesta of slaphappiness in the first degree. More kittens = more slaphappitude.

So, really, can you blame me for wanting to see the Magnificent Seven take over the lobby?

Alas - or “hooray,” depending on how we look at it - that’s not going to happen. A stampede of adopters has been in the mood for Greek take-out. Even before lobby hijinks can ensue, six out of seven tiny sweeties will have left the building.

And this leaving-the-building business has already begun. We’re two kittens poorer - and Hermes and Titan are infinitely richer for having found their forever homes. Hera, Zeus, Ares and Aphrodite wait in the wings, ready to deliver their goofy goodness to their own new families just as soon as they’ve dispatched that durned ringworm.

In this mad rush of forever home-finding, there’s just one tower of cuteness that no adopter has scaled…Persephone.

Consider it a lesson learned: it’s not in one’s best interest to name a kitten after the goddess of the underworld.

Now, I’m not saying that Persephone is hellish. But there’s a decidedly un-heavenly tinge to her tone. Several weeks into Operation: Adore Kittens, Persephone is still a bit of a holdout. While her siblings have become venerable snuggle-bugs, Persephone still accepts petting only reluctantly. She’ll hiss as you approach, then quiet down and let you stroke her. Yet, all the while, her face is flat, expression screaming, this will be over soon. Go to your happy place. Oh, yuck, human bean cooties…

I have every confidence that our cooties big giant love for Persephone will prevail. Our foxlike little feline’s days of fear are numbered: I fully believe that you can only be adored for so long before it starts to change you. And, slowly enough, Persephone is changing.

Best of all, she’ll get to be the center of attention when she brings her own brand of slappiness to the lobby…and, at last, to a home of her own.

That’s the best thing about slaphappy kittens. Their adoptions only spread the slaphappiness - and, really, who among us doesn’t want slaphappiness to abound?

PS: Many thanks to Kelly for capturing all this cuteness on camera today.

But who needs her own poem or rock-opera song when she can be the newest Tabby’s Place Community Cat?

Don’t let her dotless beauty make you think Jenny is a princess-type. As breathtaking as Jenny is to behold, she’s even more of a joy to love.

I couldn’t blame Jenny if she spent her hours in search of reflective surfaces in which to admire herself, but she does no such thing. And Jen’s not the type to limit her friends to fellow “beautiful people.” In fact, Jenny’s become fast friends with everybody’s buddy, the beautiful-in-her-own-very-strange-way Yasmine.

Like every feline to join the ranks of the Community Cats, Jenny has a Story with a capital S. Fortunately, her history is refreshingly free of medical mysteries and chronic suffering.

Less fortunately, her story has a shocking whiplash twist, and it’s all about the human beans.

Jenny’s ID number at Tabby’s Place is only 75. We started at number 09, so that means Jenny is the 66th cat ever to come to Tabby’s Place. We’re presently up to cat #837 (the glamorous Twilight - but more on her in a future post).

I can hear you doing the math in your head. #75…all the way to #837…so how is Jenny the newest Community Cat?

Perhaps it’s more accurate to call Jenny our retro cat - c. 2004.

You see, Jenny was one of our first cats, and she was promptly adopted back in the day - so promptly, in fact, that she never even made it out of our holding rooms (where each new cat spends her first three weeks at Tabby’s Place). Struck by her snowy beauty and gentle, loving ways, Jenny’s adopter knew she was The One.

And so she was…at least, for a time.

In most cases, if an adoption isn’t going to “stick,” we’ll know within the first couple of weeks. Things don’t always work out, and it’s usually very obvious, very early, to the adopter in question.

But, every so often - and all too often - it’s not an issue of sticking. It’s an issue of someone or something changing - and, in most cases, it’s not the cat.

In Jenny’s case, her adopter’s family circumstances had changed significantly over the last six years, and her person’s new squeeze was not keen on sharing the home with a certain snow-white sweetheart.

In with the squeeze, out with the Jenny.

I thank God that Jenny’s adopter kept the promise signed on adoption day, to bring Jenny back to Tabby’s Place if ever - ever - “forever” should come to an end at her forever home. Whether two weeks or six years from adoption, the promise remains: once a Tabby’s Place cat, always a Tabby’s Place cat.

Happy to see our powder-puff girl, but hearts aching with her over the wrenching separation from the only family she’d known for half a decade, we welcomed our Jenny back to Tabby’s Place with open arms. She was fourteen now, and showing the very first hints of chronic renal disease.

Mopey and clearly grieving her home, Jenny never quite settled into Suite B. Oh, she made the best of it, alright, hunkering down between the two triangle-shaped cubbies that looked straight out onto the Lobby, keeping her distance from her 17 wacky roomies. But Jenny was the elder statescat of the suite, and as she gazed out into the Lobby, day after day, we began to think we could give her more.

And so, this old, new friend became the newest Community Cat. Jenny is now radiating her beauty and grace from the heart of Tabby’s Place, the Lobby.

I’m not a gambling woman, but if I had to make a wager, I’d say that Jenny’s days at Tabby’s Place are numbered - in the good way. Age and anything smacking of Special Needs are enough to scare off most adopters…but there’s something about our gorgeous, gentle-hearted girl that just might scale those barriers sooner than anyone could guess.

In the meantime, I’m pretty well snockered with Jenny, and I’m not alone. Any dots you might see on our Jenny are just marks from the kisses she’s getting all day, every day. Volunteers tend to sigh her name, dreamlike: “Jenny.”

And, I trust, Jenny’s true dream, the forever home that lasts forever, is yet ahead.