Be advised: Winky is not planning to spruce up for the holidays.
He is not available to dress as Santa Claus for your party.
He is not going to refrain from politics or share his pie.
He will say exactly what he thinks about “kids these days,” your new boyfriend, and Meemaw’s casserole with the fossilized onions.
Winky is beside himself, and he is loving every minute of it.
In fairness, it does not take a holiday to get Winky “beside himself.” He eats outrage for breakfast. He enjoys it so much, he orders seconds.
Winky is exasperated by the continued presence of cats, when he has now placed several requests with Customer Service to return them all to the cat factory.
Winky is exasperated by our refusal to let him use the Lounge toilet as a punch bowl.
Winky is exasperated by being prevented from punching Taylor Ham.
Winky is exasperated by the thought that someone, somewhere, is eating Doritos.
Winky is exasperated that no one addresses him by his full title, Winklethorpe Banderas Rosenberg, PhD, DVM, OBE.
Winky is exasperated by Leo and all that he stands for.
Winky is exasperated by the childproof lock on the snack cabinet.
Winky is exasperated by the insinuation that he is a child.
Winky is even exasperated by the expression “beside himself.” Who came up with that? It had to be the same species that invented childproof locks and fat-free mayonnaise.
“Beside himself!” More like “inside himself.” Winky is never Winkier than when he has a grievance. Winky never feels more elegant than when he is exasperated.
Besides, he has people to handle that. It’s our job to be beside Winky’s self.
We first came beside Winky in 2023. He had a history of aggression, and it was not ancient history.
He proceeded to lavish the Lounge with his opinions, administered via tooth and claw. He told Taylor Ham he looks like a less attractive Jabba the Hutt. He told Baby he is an embarrassment to infants everywhere.
He told us he was hyperthyroid, hyperconfident, and hyped to be here, but don’t mention that last bit, because he has a reputation to protect, wink wink.
He was perfect. We were bedazzled. We were besotted.
We were beside him like milk with cookies, like marshmallows melting in cocoa, like toddlers swarming Santa Claus.
But let the reader understand: Winky is not Santa Claus.
Winky is Winky, as sweet or sriracha as circumstances dictate. He is total honesty, swaggering self-esteem, and hundred-proof wonderful all the way to the littlest spot on his belly.
(Do not touch his belly. Do not point at his belly. Do not even think in the direction of his belly. See above re: “not Santa Claus.”)
He is also back.
Winky is not exasperated that he was adopted and returned. Not only does he have more important things to be exasperated about (e.g., injustice, Taylor Ham’s ear hair, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter), but there is no shame in getting adopted and returned.
Well, there is no shame anywhere in the Winkleverse, but certainly not here.
Getting adopted means you had an adventure. Getting returned means you were too good for that adventure.
Getting returned also means you get back to the people who never left your side.
When Winky came back, with his thyroid thundering and his heart disease hollering, we were already beside him. Once a Tabby’s Place cat, always a Tabby’s Place cat. Whether your body or your ego needs tending, you face nothing alone.
At all times, in all moods, you face love’s face in our many faces.
We will meet you where you are.
Winky is a smart guy, so he has us pretty well figured out at Tabby’s Place. We are beside him, and we are not going anywhere.
We are not going anywhere if he goes a little gingersnappish. We are not going anywhere if he needs heroic medical care. We are beside him, no matter what.
We may have to kneel to look him in the eye, but Winky is the one who comes down to our level. Leave it to our most opinionated tabby to tell us like it is: we are all counting on love traveling the distance to our side.
Just don’t ask Winky to sing carols about it. Taylor Ham might enjoy that too much.