Dear Bacon Supporters,

Hi! I’m so pleased to be able to bring you another update on this wonderful kitty.

This month, I have a question: will the real statue please blink, or move, or do something?!!?

I am always a little surprised by Bacon when I visit. Sometimes, he is fast asleep, and I can literally bang around in the suite where he lives, and he is—as they say—out like a light. Other times, he’s “cat napping,” and the minute I enter and quietly close the door behind me, his one eye shoots open, and he is aware of my every movement. He wants to know who I am.  He comes over and sniffs.

He wants snacks.

But today, when I come to see him, he is inside his lovely house and standing absolutely, perfectly still, as though he is auditioning to be a statue. He doesn’t blink. I don’t even think he’s breathing. He knows I’m here, I think, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

I crouch down on the floor and do what I usually do: put my hand out under his nose, so he can sniff. Of course, I expect some kind of reaction. “Oh, yeah, I know you. Got snacks?” But today, he stands there, as if in a trance. I’m reminded of a yoga class when you strike a pose and aren’t allowed to move a muscle.

Then, the spell is broken. He leaves his house, carefully avoids me, and rambles around the room as if he’s on holiday. As if he’s saying, “I have nowhere special to go.  And I have all the time in the world to get there.”  It’s like he’s on tour, noticing his abode for the first time, surveying the wonderful selection of beds. He can stay in his house, or he can sleep in any of three different locations—all cozy and comfortable.

Finally, he comes over.

Now, it’s my turn to freeze like a statue. I don’t move a muscle. I sit there and pretend I have all the time in the world (which isn’t true, unfortunately). Bacon needs time to acclimate himself to my presence. In a few minutes, I’ll be able to reach up and pet him under his chin—his favorite place. He’ll turn his head this way and that to get a better angle. Then, I can run my hand down his coat, and if he’s calm enough, I can pat the top of his head.

The petting begins. I pat my leg, and he comes closer and sniffs. He steps over me to get to the other side of the room. I want to pick him up and hug him. Let him sit on my lap. But there are rules to our encounters: I’ll be a statue, and then you need to be a statue. Slowly, we warm up.

And he does, of course. At about the same time that I have to go. After all, I’m a volunteer, and dishes and laundry await!

The small office suite where Bacon lives used to be called the Medical Office, but now it is called the Sanctuary Associates Office. Even though more people are coming in and out, the good people of Tabby’s Place always ensure they are very quiet (in deference to Bacon’s nerves) and don’t overdo the petting (which is tough, because he’s so cute).

On the medical side, Bacon has been doing okay. He had a few minor seizures this month (as is unfortunately not uncommon for him), but they were over quickly and uneventfully.

Thank you for helping to ensure that Bacon is happy, healthy, and loved just the way he is. Your generosity means the world to this dear boy and all our cats.

Your correspondent,
Kate