How can I welcome people to Tabby’s Place without your help, Theodosia?

You were my co-conspirator, my hidden pearl, and the other half of my comedy duo.

The much better half.

But if comedy is the far side of tragedy, all I want is to see your face again.

I couldn’t wait to show visitors your face. I felt myself turning giddy as a seven-year-old every time my hand landed on the Coat Room door.

“This is a special room. This is a secret room. Are you ready? Today is about to become one of the best days of your whole life. One of my best friends in the whole wide world is on the other side of that door–”

“–MAHHHHHHHHHH!”

You spoiled my punch line every time. Before visitors ever saw your face, they heard your opinions.

Since all of your opinions were correct, at all times, I just giggled, jumped up and down with excitement, and opened the door.

Visitors’ reaction was universal. Whether the tour group consisted of squiggly toddlers or dignified adults, they would gasp. Their hands flew to their hearts. And then, they swooned such commentary as, “oh my goodness!” “Wonder of wonders!” Or, most appropriately, “look at her! I love her!”

They had never seen anyone like you, Theodosia. You were the original of your species.

Your tail was the bossiest half-inch on Earth. Your eyes were capable of yelling. Your face was as round as the moon. You showed your dark and light sides simultaneously.

You brought your own gravity. You owned the full orbit.

“Orbiting” was your favorite activity. Whatever the audience, you circled them with pride, pontificating all the while. “MAHHHHHHHHHH!”

Your legs were stubbier than granola bars, but you walked the length of worlds. It was imperative that you circle people, all the people.

You knew something, Theodosia. (Correction: you knew everything.)

You knew that people do not get circled enough.

People rarely see their names in the winner’s ring. People learn, pretty young, to stop wanting to be the one who gets picked.

So, you circled everyone, ragged or refined. You circled them, screaming for emphasis.

You circled them, as if they’d handed you the classic middle-school note: “Do you like me? Circle one: Yes/No/Maybe.”

You circled them, until everyone learned that “MAHHHHHHHH!” means “yes! With all my heart.”

You chose people, simply because they were people.

You chose our staff and volunteers, and, oh my goodness, did they ever return the favor.

Day by day, a steady stream of sweethearts poured into your room. They lay on the floor, held your woolly face to their hearts, and revered you as their queen. Seeing you was the highlight of their day.

As you began to fade, they rearranged their lives to spend just a little more time with you. Their faces filled with light when they spoke of you. You chose them, and they chose you, in an endless Möbius strip of love.

You did not, it must be noted, choose cats. You chose to defeat cats.

We attempted to choose cats for you. We gifted you the most inoffensive, docile cats under the stars. All they wanted was to loll like walruses in the window. You were of the opinion that walruses taste good with mustard.

You succeeded in terrorizing these meek cats, even when they were twice your size. You succeeded in banishing all cats from your room. You were convinced that you were not only the original, but the last, of your species. You outlived them all. You fought the cats, and you won.

You told people about this as you circled them. If they stayed long enough, you would plop in their laps. This was not because you were tired. You could circle for centuries.

You sat in their laps because you knew something else. You knew that people do not know their own gravity. People are feather-light. People get scared of things like opinions and carbohydrates.

People need someone who is not scared at all to hold them steady.

You were only five pounds. Yet you kept me from getting lost like a tumbleweed, more times than I care to tell. You did this for everyone who asked, especially if they did not ask in words.

And then, you got back to circling and shouting.

“MAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The average human was so spellbound by your oratory, they did not realize you had run eight thousand rings around them, which legally made them yours.

We were all yours, Theodosia.

We are still all yours.

The awfulness of goodbye cannot void that contract.

I had a hunch you were immune to death. You did not hide your age. You were gruntled to be a little grizzled. You earned those years.

Those years had landed you squarely in crisis, once. You were the last cat left in a shelter that was shutting down, and “nobody wanted you” due to your age. So, you just circled your own name, and Tabby’s Place circled the wagons, and the next thing we knew, our best friend in the whole wide world was screaming pearls of wisdom in the Coat Room.

I still hear you, Theodosia.

I hear you, though your legendary voice grew breathy, and you had to choose your words carefully.

It would be easier to report what did not go wrong in your small body than to enumerate what did. Still, you summoned your strength to shout. “MAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Death was just one more cat to conquer.

I am certain that you won.

You have left our sight, but the circle is unbroken. We are no longer just people. We are your people, the ones you chose.

I will miss you every day I am out of your orbit, Theodosia.

But at the end of the tour, we will be together again. I don’t expect there will be any other cats in your part of heaven.

And if you are somewhere you can weep freely, read on for powerful reflections from just a few of the people Theodosia loved more than life. 

Ally, volunteer: “Early in our friendship, I often came early to my volunteer shifts to allow her sufficient time to sit in my lap on her terms. She had a funny way of bunting you, which mostly involved just holding her whole forehead against your shin or your chest. I gave her several nicknames, from ‘Crunchy’ to ‘crunch queen’ to ‘Dozy’ to ‘Dozer,’ and most affectionately, ‘Bulldozer.’ She had the BEST purr. If my own circumstances had allowed it, I would have loved to have been her forever foster home. On Friday of last week, I got some good snuggles with her, and found one of her whiskers on her bed. This makes two that I’ve collected from her. I have plans to turn these into a memorial charm of some kind so I can keep her close. I loved this cranky old lady and I’m so, so happy that Tabby’s Place gave her a place to live out her golden years surrounded by so many others who adore her.”

Ally shares these powerful poems:

More Blog Posts