Words you will never hear spoken to a cat at Tabby’s Place:
“You are the second cutest.”
“No, you are not the ruler of the galaxy.”
“No, you are not Brad Pitt.”
And most importantly: “You can’t live in a bubble.”
Bubbles get a bad rap. People say you’ve got to toughen up if you’re going to make it in this world. You’ve got to be bold, brave, bubbleless. To live in a bubble is to play it safe.
Then they go back to their own kinds of bubbles, so they can feel their own kind of safe.
Meanwhile, Clifford is not bashful about his bubble.
Clifford’s bubble is not a comforting illusion. Clifford’s bubble is not a set of blinders. Clifford’s bubble is not even a sleeve of Oreos and a marathon session of Gilmore Girls.
Clifford’s bubble is an actual, architectural bubble.
You can call it “the Quinn’s Corner lobby” if you like, but let’s be real. It is a bubble.
It looks like it came from a giant bottle of Sprite, or the bath of a massive Muppet.
It has glass walls, a skylight ceiling, and the ability to protect Clifford from unnecessary distress.
It is a bubble.
It became Clifford’s bubble in lieu of crowning Clifford the ruler of the galaxy.
Clifford is, of course, the ruler of the galaxy. The trouble is that Clifford shares this title with the other 149 residents of Tabby’s Place. This displeases Clifford, even more than the fact that his order of 149 cheeseburgers has not yet arrived.
So, Clifford got a little … carbonated.
He belched up all kinds of bullying. He stirred up those sweet soap suds, Batty and Hoopla Green. It is hard to imagine two more innocent cats than Batty and Hoopla.
Clifford sees things differently. Batty and Hoopla persisted in existing, even after Clifford asked them nicely to stop.
But let’s not be hard on Clifford. When a cat goes around bursting bubbles, his anger is transparent. His attempts to feel better are full of fear, which is why they sink.
He doesn’t need to toughen up. He needs a place to feel safe. Also a cheeseburger, but we have to start somewhere.
He needs a bubble.
This being Tabby’s Place, Clifford got a bubble of unparalleled beauty. Sun pours through the skylight as though it was created for the sole purpose of Clifford. Beds of every shape dot the bubble’s edges, and volunteers deliver fleece fresh from the dryer.
But instead of making his world smaller, the bubble makes Clifford larger.
Wary no more, he thirsts for affection and chugs cuddles from old and new friends. He sleeps deeply, burbling little purrs of contentment. His face has softened before our eyes.
I am not kidding; he looks like a different cat, younger, more truly Clifford. It is like watching a cage fighter become a child.
Also, Batty and Hoopla enjoy the pastime called “being permitted to live.” It’s neat.
Funny thing about bubbles: they’re never just for the bubbler.
Even funnier thing: we’re all bubblers.
Clifford gets a bubble because (a) we love him and (b) he is fragile.
Living with feline leukemia virus (FeLV), his immune system needs all the protection it can get. Emotional distress can churn medical danger. The soul and body tell each other everything. Of course, this applies to fellow “FeLVies” Batty and Hoopla.
And me. And you.
There is no shame in a bubble that protects someone precious.
Cats never forget they are precious.
A visit to Clifford’s bubble comes with a free reminder. Cheeseburger donations encouraged but not required.