Far be it from us to promote irresponsible feline fatherhood.
We educate our residents in avoiding unwise romantic escapades.
Which is to say, we neuter them.
But, we cannot control acts of canoodling that occurred prior to their coming to Tabby’s Place.
And on Father’s Day, we speculate on which of our gentlemen may have fathered kittens prior to becoming gentlemen neutered.
Did the streets of Turkey teem with tiny Ankas?
Today, our plush paraplegic commands a fleet of chariots. His shampoo-commercial hair ripples in the breeze, as his footservants gavotte him through our gardens in his cat stroller.
He can manifest treats by the power of his stare. If he has any “love interest,” it is his own reflection in the window. He will spend this Father’s Day consuming freeze-dried chicken, in the hopes that his body may someday grow large enough to accommodate all his self-esteem.
But there was a time when our elegant egomaniac was a stray in Turkey.
Before Anka was struck by a car, he must have left the lady cats starstruck. If cats read romance novels, the guy on the cover would bear a suspicious resemblance to Anka.
We can only imagine how many great-great-grandkittens are mugging for falafel from Istanbul’s street vendors today.
When Anka was paralyzed, international forces of good brought him to Tabby’s Place. A decade later, he is as interested in female cats as he is in plant-based meatballs. He does not believe either should exist.
This is why he has a private suite. Anka once did his best to prevent our Lobby residents from existing. And if you don’t think a paralyzed cat can overpower all the “normal” cats, you have not seen Anka get Olive in a headlock so tight, Olive’s head nearly bounced away like, well, an olive.
Still, Anka deserves a Father’s Day card with a fish on it. (An actual tilapia. Maybe a haddock. Hallmark must have something.)
For, although he is an Atlantic Ocean away from any cats he may have fathered, he is a fatherly phenom to another sort of kittens.
(Human) children clamor to cuddle Anka, and he welcomes them with all the pride of a papa. When kids pull out their storybooks for our Paws to Read events, Anka listens. Perhaps he is making up for lost time, being the father he never was.
Perhaps he knows that human kittens often have Cheez Doodles in their pockets.
Anka is not the only Tabby’s Place cat we suspect of fatherhood.
Bruno came to us from Coney Island. At the right angle, you can catch the carnival lights in his sad Steve Buscemi eyes.
We were told that Bruno was the pariah of his feral colony. The other strays did talk about Bruno. They said he was a grumpy gerbil of a guy who wrecked the vibe.
We have even seen photos of Bruno on the boardwalk, sharing a dish of wet food with a rat the size of a sedan.
But, as they say, it is “always the quiet ones.” There is more to Bruno than meets the eye.
Since coming to Tabby’s Place, Bruno has blurted out his big secret. He has special powers that no one would expect. That doleful expression is a magnet for love. His roommates cannot resist.
Walk into Suite I after dark, and you will catch Bruno and Rihanna performing a duet of “Islands in the Stream.” (Bruno sings the Dolly Parton part, but that is irrelevant.) The late Shirley sheltered in Bruno’s gallant comforts.
And in another lifetime, you can bet: there were itty bitty Brunos all over Brooklyn.
The next time you’re in Coney Island, raise your chili dog to Bruno, and keep a lookout for suave stray cats with a glimmer in their eyes.
Meanwhile, Bruno’s roommate Mandarin makes no secret of his zest. Mandarin’s love of other cats is legendary, although his soundtrack is less “80’s soft rock” and more “Parental Advisory, Explicit Content.”
(I shall not delve into detail, given the family-friendly nature of this blog. Suffice to say that even spayed and neutered cats may reenact the art of romance. Right in front of their suite window. When children are visiting. I am not making this up.)
When we first met Mandarin, he was hopeless in the throes of a brain infection. He is blessed to be alive.
But we have a hunch our hunk of citrus has led a pulpy life.
He will not confess to anything juicy, but we have seen the way he woos everything living. We are all besotted with the boy in orange. I have caught myself doodling “Mrs. Angela Mandarin” and “Mr. and Mrs. Mandarin Rosenberg” in my notebook.
Just imagine the cavalcades of clementines out there with Mandarin’s nose and eyes. It is a good thing he has grown into a respectful gentleman been neutered. It is an even better thing Maury Povich is no longer on the air.
Perhaps we are uncouth to speculate on our residents’ pasts. What matters is that they are all love’s children now, living their second chance at kittenhood. Tabby’s Place is an endless Father’s Day party for the forgotten and the uncelebrated. Nobody golfs, everybody naps, and we all take care of each other.
We also “take care” of feline fatherhood on a larger scale. We have a trap-neuter-return (TNR) program for feral colonies, preventing kittens from being born into hopeless situations in the first place.
Still, it’s Father’s Day.
So indulge us a little, as we picture itty-bitty Ankas and micro Mandarins. Giggle with us as we picture rafts of rambunctious one-eyed Ruchis (Ruchlings?), or swaggering generations of Gators, or chips off the old Chester.
Or even better, let’s all gather around Tux, who has lived through the most Father’s Days of all.
Tux has been Grandfather of the Year for 23 years. He’s spent half of those years at Tabby’s Place, after coming to us from an overcrowding situation.
We have no reason to believe Tux has ever had kittens. We have every reason to believe we are all Tux’s kittens.
Tux is the kind of Grandpa who lets you fall asleep in his lap, take home his favorite baseball card, and eat his last Werther’s. For a decade, he has been here for everyone, of every age, of every species.
Tabby’s Place is his overstuffed chair, and there’s always room for one more.
If you are a scared kitten, Tux blinks into your soul until you come snuggle up to his side: c’mon now, little one. You’re safe here until the thunderstorm is over. And I promise, every storm runs out of rumbles.
If you are an overenthusiastic calico, he will purr as you knead endless “biscuits” into his back for no apparent reason.
If you are a haggard human, he will keep you company until you no longer feel like an orphan.
If you are looking for the face of Father’s Day, he’s in our Community Room.
So, happy Father’s Day to all the cats of Tabby’s Place. We are proud to be your family tree. Your lineage is lovingkindness.
We have much to learn from you.