Public service announcement: you are in immediate danger of hyperglycemia.
If sweetness isn’t your style, I’d urge you to make your way to the nearest exit. Really. Hurry.
OK. Cold-hearted characters all out? Cool. Now we can proceed.
Sweeter than Willy Wonka’s entire factory, Bear is nine pounds of 99% cacao charm. Behind those big eyes is a very serious woman with every intention of becoming an everlasting gobstopper of love. At sixteen years old — yes, you read that right — Bear is well on her way.
It wasn’t long ago that things weren’t going Bear’s way in any way, shape or form. The effervescent, don’t-call-me-elderly eclair of a cat was happy as a chocolate bunny, physically attaching herself to her mama approximately 22 hours a day. They’d gone through years of stories and heartaches and high fits of happiness together. But, after several thousand Law and Order Reruns and nearly two decades, things went entirely off the rails.
Bear’s mom developed dementia so severe that she required assistance caring for herself, much less one very demanding dessert of a cat. Even before Bear had to leave her mom’s side, her mom had, in a very real way, left the building. Bear was bereft, a cat with no destination.
Or so it seemed.
The little tabby with the giant mouth was not about to turn back and turn into a pillar of sugar. She threw herself into smittening up every possible extended family member with her invincible sweetness. And so it was that, through a happy series of rainbow-sprinkled circumstances, Bear came to Tabby’s Place.
Coming to Tabby’s Place, of course, is a supremely good thing. Whether you land in the land of plenty (= Lobby) or are tasked with taking care of the hapless Development Director, you’ve got it good once you’re a cat in our care.
But Bear, that butterscotch buttercup of a broad, plunged directly into the plummiest place of all.
If Tabby’s Place were a Mumford and Sons concert, Bear would be front row, center.
If Tabby’s Place were Hamilton, Bear would be in the room where it happens.
If Tabby’s Place were Game of Thrones, Bear would be on that giant sword-chair. (And Bucca would ride her dragon across the sea while Boom descended from The Iceland-ish Place to make her queen, and Jonathan would save all the direwolves. But I digress.)
But Tabby’s Place is Tabby’s Place, and so Bear is in Jonathan’s office.
You are half correct, say I.
Sweetening this story into one ocean of molasses, Bear’s arrival was preceded by Piper’s departure. If the brassy, bossy, wet-food annihilator that was Piper ever had to leave us, this was the way to go. As you can see, Piper was adopted by one of the coolest ladies in the history of ladies.
All at once, the maudlin questions came in: Prithee thee, what shall befall Sherbet? What is an orange tom without his lady? However shall we handle this divorce?
Thou needs must get over thyself, say I.
In all honesty, Sherbet is
probably a bit enormously and eternally relieved by Piper’s departure. A sweet snuggler with a planet-sized purr, Sherbet really, really loves people, but he had little opportunity to show it under Piper’s reign. Sans Piper, he has a better shot at getting some loving himself. He always deferred to his iron lady (possibly because of her subtle habit of punching him in the head).
But back to Bear.
Sherbs didn’t have a full week of Jonathan’s undivided attention before another, louder, older, bolder brown tabby lady arrived. As of this post, Bear is broadcasting her magic for all who have ears to hear, expanding her green eyes to 300 feet in diameter at everyone who looks at her, a tactic that’s effective in immediately reducing you to a muddle of molasses. In the unlikely event that Bear’s stare (more powerful, even, than the Care Bear Stare) does not have its desired effect, Bear will MEOW WITH THE SONG OF A THOUSAND SWANS.
And you will be so sweetened that you will never be the same.
So Bear with us, kittens. We are rich in riotous sweetness, and the best is yet to come.