Our cat food dish runneth over this week. Saturday seems to have unleashed some inexorable Force of Fantastic in the universe, and it shows no signs of stopping.

But there’s time enough for that later this week.

Today I’m not going to talk about the cavalcade of cats scooped up after being overlooked too long. I’m not going to talk about the New York hairstylist cat, or the tenor, or the lost triplet (who isn’t going to Arizona after all). I’m not even going to talk about the Blessing of the Animals that was a double blessing to the humans. Not today, anyway.

No, I’m going to talk about Webster. And, for once, it’s not because I want to.

For Saturday’s festivities, the Community Cats made a temporary move into the apartment. With the rabble-rousers Chance, Harley, Boots and Tashi safely tucked into crates, the lobby cats took up the main apartment space, while the Community Room cats settled into the bedroom. That is, until eyewitnesses claimed a certain tabby was “wailing on” a certain gentle tortie. I did not see Webster whupping Franny, and I do not, will not, believe it actually happened. But I can’t deny the result: certain human beans decided it was best for all cats involved if Webster spent the big day in a crate back in Hospital.

Alone.

This kept me tossing on Friday night. Picturing the Webbed One back in that cold crate, away from his world, away from all other living beings, without even a Sarah McLachlan dirge droning in the background…well, it was all I could do not to call the ACLU and the PTA and the CIA and Pat Robertson, and ask ‘em to get down here on Webster’s benefit. (Although, this could have been very good for Tabby’s Place as well as the news media: just picture our favorite cat, Al Sharpton, and Glenn Beck all united on the cover of Newsweek under the headline, FREE WEBSTER.)

But before I could start singing “Me and Webbio Down by the Schoolyard,” the big day was over and Webby’s wrongful imprisonment could end. With wings on my feet I flew back to Hospital, and as I opened Web’s crate he leapt into my arms and wrapped his paws around my neck, hanging on tight like a marsupial baby. Reunited and it felt so good. And, quite honestly, our boy didn’t seem particularly fazed by this grave injustice.

Little did he - and you and I - know that a bigger hurdle was headed our way.

Monday was a Day of Infamy Ultrasounds at Tabby’s Place. Lilac is fine. Mr. Grey is starting an aspirin regimen. Oreo has a very weird (but seemingly okay) heart.

But Webster…Webster’s heart disease has progressed.

“Not much,” Jonathan reassured me (repeatedly). “It’s barely different than last time.” Right. Good. Fine. And I’d be okay with that…if not for one sentence from the Mean, Bad and Dastardly Ultrastenographer. (Note: I do not actually know anything about this individual. She may well be a lovely person who saves burning busloads of orphans on a daily basis. But, for reasons that will soon become clear, she is obviously Mean, Bad and Dastardly.)

The sentence of stinkage: ”He could go into heart failure at any time.”

NO. No, as a matter of fact, he can’t - or, as a pedantic elementary school teacher would have me put it, he may not. He is not permitted. Sorry, do not pass GO, do not collect $200, and don’t you dare go into heart failure.

The sentence put a chill and 400 arrows directly into my heart. About ten minutes after hearing the sentence, I witnessed Webster throwing up (not a common occurrence for him), and became convinced that The End was near. “My baby!!!” I moaned, telenovela-style.

Good thing I’m such a sober-minded individual.

“Angela,” said the genuinely sober-minded Jonathan. “The ultrastenographer said exactly the same thing six months ago, and he’s been fine.” 

But still. This is Webster. This is the cat whose eyes light up a room. This is the cat whose goodness outshines all the Boy Scouts on the planet (sorry, Webelos). This is the cat who hugs me so tight, I feel a whisper of Love itself not letting go. This is the cat who loves so deeply, he’s willing to let his big heart be broken.

But not literally. Oh, please, God, not literally.

So, Felis Catus family, today I’m tabling all that other good news to humbly request: would you please pray for our Webster? Your prayers in the last six months have given us the luxury of “forgetting” that he has heart disease. With all the love in this place, I honestly feel that we - feline and human - want for nothing. We are rich in love, rich beyond imagination and blessed beyond measure. So may we hope and pray for many more months years decades of “nothing” in the way of medical news for Webster.

And starting tomorrow, we unleash the cavalcade of crazy-fabulous adoption news.

Tags: boots, chance, chopper, harley, lilac, luciano, Mr. Grey, oreo, tashi, videl, webster

---