Dearest Sponsors,

Happy November! I hope autumn’s grand finale is gentle and golden in your world.

I hope, too, that you will give Prescott and I the one and only present we want for Thanksgiving … but more on that in a moment.

First, Queen Prescott would like a word with you about Thanksgiving.

The calendar tells us that the fourth Thursday in November is “Thanksgiving.” Prescott says the calendar thinks too small. Prescott has observed that Thanksgiving is primarily about gratitude and poultry.

Prescott must point out the obvious: at Tabby’s Place, everything runs on gratitude and poultry.

But perhaps this is the secret to our success. Which brings me to Prescott’s pressing concern: we are at risk of squandering everything.

That’s right. The Lobby cats are still on strict treat restriction. No chicken cookies. No mackerel mousse. And no heavenly little stars that taste like turkey.

Prescott, being great and good, recognizes our rationale. Some of her neighbors have ballooned to prize-pumpkin dimensions, endangering their health. Others require a limited-ingredient diet so as to prevent gastrointestinal festivities.

But Prescott is not in either of these boats. Prescott is in a one-cat parade float called “Perfect.”

Ergo, there is no reasonable reason why Prescott should be deprived of poultry.

But, being greater than most living beings who hath ever trod the earth, Prescott is forgiving. Prescott believes in second and seventy-seventh chances. So, Prescott is taking this indignity in stride.

Actually, she is taking it “in gallop.”

She is running at the speed of a caffeinated cheetah to the doors of Quinn’s Corner, in a ribbon of silver stripes and tabby tinsel. She is setting a bad fantastic example for Trent, Hips, and newest arrival Murdock, who now do the same. And she is not even doing it for treats, although rumor has it Quinn’s Corner contains the kitchen, and the kitchen contains the cookies.

She is doing it so our staff will have to create increasingly fabulous “Wanted” posters starring Prescott.

You see the fun of this, right? When you are regal, righteous, and perfect, a little bit of rebellion tastes almost as good as … well, poultry.

Prescott is the perennial good kid. Every cat is a cherub, but Prescott does angelic extra credit. If you are glum or bewildered, Prescott will appear at your ankles to assure you that all is well. If your day got off on the wrong foot, Prescott will devote all four feet, plus her dangly tail, to remind you that the dance is not over. If you need a friend who will listen so lovingly, you hear music all over again, you can count on Prescott. If Prescott ever thought she hurt your feelings, she would probably lay awake all night worrying about it.

Prescott is just that good.

So Prescott reserves the right to be one microscopic smidgen of “bad.”

There she goes again! I see volunteers charging through the doors, laughing all the way, Prescott rearing up like a pony as she leaves them puffing in the dust. Someone yells, “we got a runner!” This could go on all day, if Prescott did not finally slow down or trot back out of Quinn’s Corner as carefree as a chickadee. She pretends she is nonchalant, but really she is laughing so hard she can hardly keep it together.

(We have formally instructed staff and volunteers to “ignore Prescott” when she lingers near the Quinn’s Corner doors. Apparently this is meant to cut off the supply of reinforcement for her behavior. This would work, except that Prescott has what’s called a very strong “locus of control.” She does what she does because she makes herself proud. External validation is a bonus, not the main course.)

It’s all rather spectacular.

“Spectacular” is the default description for our little phenom, and I’m grateful to say it applies equally well to her health. Other than the Halloween indignity pictured here, and the ongoing effects of treat deprivation, Prescott has no medical news to report.

She does, however, have one request: that you report to her Lobby.

Have you ever wanted to glimpse Prescott’s gallop yourself, or to catch her playing “catch me if you can” with Trent? You can see them with your own eyes, and hear their tires squealing.

Have you ever wanted to sneak Prescott an entire tube of squeeze-salmon, and to giggle together like bad kids? You can do so, and I will not tell the vice principal.

You just have to put Saturday, November 23rd on your calendar.

That’s when we’re hosting Thanksgiving with the Cats, an annual cozy-fest of mingling and merriment at Tabby’s Place. We gather, we gab, and we give the cats special holiday treats.

TREATS.

Thanks to you, dear sponsors, every square on the calendar is Prescott’s favorite holiday. But 11/23/24 will be in a class of its own if you can come and gaze into the hazel eyes that love you so dearly. (I mean Prescott’s, not mine, although I’m pretty fond of you, too, and I can’t wait to meet you.)

The event runs from 12-4pm, and Prescott is so excited at the thought of it, she’s about to … oh, boy, we’ve got a runner!

Whether or not you can make it on 11/23, know that you will be in our hearts on Thanksgiving at Tabby’s Place. You are the reason Prescott thrives on love’s feast daily. You give me hope for this weary world of ours.

You are so incredibly loved!

With gratitude and affection, your corespondent,
Angela