When you’ve survived a hopeless situation, every day is a holiday.

But some cats are feline festivities unto themselves.

Shaggy is St. Patrick’s Day. Miss Kitty is National Hot Pastrami Sandwich Day (which is fast approaching, so I hope you have finished your shopping).

And Willie is New Year’s Day.

Willie is not one of those people who responds to “Happy New Year!” with a scowl. You will not hear him mutter, “it’s just another day.”

This has little to do with the fact that it’s January 1st.

It has everything to do with the fact that it’s a day, and he has not seen this one before.

These sunbeams are not yesterday’s sunbeams. Any resemblance is purely coincidental. These sunbeams have names no one has ever heard. These sunbeams have never been, and they will never be again.

If your eyes were as wide as Willie’s, you would know.

“He looks surprised.” Visitors wonder if Willie has just moved into Tabby’s Place. It would be more accurate to say he just arrived from another dimension.

This is the only way to account for his eyes, full moons of wonder. His expression hovers between, “oh my goodness,” and “holy moly.”

If he is awake, he is astonished. If he is sleeping, he may be even more astonished. Only his dreams and sunbeams know for sure.

Willie has lived in our Development Office since 2024. The view has scarcely changed. Meals still arrive at eight, one, and four. No elk or emus prance outside his window, unless you count Hips when he escapes from the Lobby. Willie Nelson has yet to visit, for a “World’s Best Willies” encounter.

Old, familiar voices call Willie “good,” over and over. Van Gogh’s Sunflowers still hang on the wall, a smidge of summer from January to December.

There is very little “news” in Willie’s life.

But Willie’s life is renewed every day.

Astonishment is the only honest reaction.

Some would chalk this up to the architecture of Willie’s brain. On the worst day of summer 2024, he slipped outside and lost his bearings. In the overwhelming outdoors, the former housecat fumbled for food.

This kind of “adventure” is not exciting. This sort of “new” gets old, fast.

Willie’s cruel crash diet left him weak. He was easy prey for a parasite, which burrowed into his brain and caused a traumatic injury.

Willie would never be the same.

But that is not the real reason no two days are the same.

Something greater than anatomy enlivens our lion. Willie traveled from death to life. In transit, he lost the luggage of being able to take things for granted.

Now, every chin skritch is a press release from heaven. Lunch is monumental. A fleece donut bed bearing the likeness of SpongeBob SquarePants is the size of the entire universe.

Willie walks in the steps of Aslan, another lion of uncommon courage. The hero of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Aslan restored a world suspended in a state of “always winter, never Christmas.”

The hero of Tabby’s Place, Willie rouses us from our drowsy default state of “just another day, never New Year’s.”

Willie will never be “normal,” and that is cause for awe. He paces his suite in infinity laps, brushing his face against familiar legs each time he walks by. They are still warm, every time.

He errs on the side of eating everything, so as not to miss anything.

At times, fear yanks his mane, and Willie growls in all directions, fighting ghosts we can’t see. When this happens, the best cure is calm. We limit visitors to his suite. We shelter him in sameness. Normalcy is his nest. Routine is a ritual.

And tomorrow will be New Year’s Day again, all glistening with giblets and epiphany.

May we be brave enough to stay astonished.

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